


Guan Ren and Lao Gong

by seaofolives



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Adaptation, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-09 04:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 56,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: Loosely inspired by the 1962 Shaw Brothers classicMadame White Snake/Bai She Zhuan.





	1. Guan Ren

**Author's Note:**

> Blanket warning for being over-the-top and cheesy since this was inspired from a Huangmei opera but unlike a classic Lin Dai film, this isn't tragic.

Baze threw open the double doors of the main house and stood with his life staring back at him: an empty courtyard—newly retiled, thank the Force, but the payment is a different story altogether—parting the dim east wing from the shuttered west wing like a flat, gray sea. And across it, the gate house which seemed to be the only thing in his property that had any semblance of life in it—and yet that statement in itself was likely to still be wrong. 

It hadn’t always been that way—when he was younger, the family house had never known a single moment of peace and quiet. His father was a rich man whose main preoccupation was showing off his house, his wife and her superb culinary talent which he insists—brags about, really—to be the trap that had ensnared him into a woefully married life. His mother played the part of the blushing young bride—to be fair, they were eight years apart—subservient to her husband and bound by the chains of filial piety. But if Baze were ever to be asked about his mother’s truest defining moments, he would have to say that it was those when his mother would be waging a war with her imperious mother-in-law, or turning the entire house over, fighting her husband’s childhood servants for no other reason than to be contradictory. Baze never really saw her point although quiet boy that he was, he never stood in her way—but he could tell, even from behind his bedroom’s door, that she loved doing it. She was in her element. She scared him whenever she raised her voice but she was such a force to reckon, he had to admire her spirit which not even her husband, his father, could seem to tame in their own private moments, no matter how often his grandmother demanded her son to do something about it. 

And therein lied the susurrus that kept him up at night—hateful curses, endless quibbles about that cheap woman their master had brought home from the province, lording over them like the empress of all Jedha when she was just his second wife. Second wife! It was just a shame that she had to be the one to give the master a son, and even this his own grandmother could not deny. 

In spite of all the drama that surrounded Baze’s growing years, though, he could not say that life had been terrible for him. His mother loved him above all else and his father spoiled him when his mother was not around. His own grandmother adored him and allowed him to drink from her private tea collection which she insisted had come from the emperor of Jedha himself. When she died (surprisingly not of a heart attack), she bequeathed half of her inheritance to him and left none to his mother. The other half went to Baze after his father choked on a stubborn piece of tangyuan that led to his untimely demise. At that time, Baze was still two years too young to be a legal adult, which meant that all his windfall wealth would have to be managed by none other than the new mistress of the house, his mother herself. 

She would surprise her servants by refusing Baze’s money which everyone had always known was the only reason she had married her husband for. On the contrary, she had them all locked away from her and her son’s reach while she began to teach him the skills that would one day rescue him from a life of poverty—managing accounts, mending his own clothes, and cooking. Poultry, meat, fish, shellfish, rice, noodles, desserts, baking bread, making a variety of dim sum…but of all the life skills he had been taught as a child, only one of them would eventually rise up to be his true calling: making bao. 

He would discover it on the same day he had given all his money to his father’s creditors—by then, his mother had already died from the effects of excessive smoking (and left him everything she owned which wasn’t nearly as much as anyone might have hoped for, her late obsession to mahjong having put quite a bit of a dent on it) and he had already sent away all his servants, by then too expensive to keep employed. Lost and depressed, he made a hundred pieces of bao of all sorts of flavors imaginable and nearly got sick stuffing himself full of them while he cried on the kitchen floor, all alone. The rest, he decided to sell to his neighbors before they spoiled, from which he made a little money for himself. Struck by a bolt of inspiration, Baze decided to convert his family’s gate house to a bao shop. For starters, one might say. 

Thirty years later, his bao shop was still at the gate house of his family home. It wasn’t as lucrative as he might have first imagined but it was all he had left and it was enough to keep him alive from one day to the next. It was a tiring lifestyle to put up with, but there was nothing else to do so he soldiered on. 

At four in the morning, just as the sun was filtering through the Jedha system, Baze would get up, set his house right (as if there was anything more to do other than to sweep the floor, wipe the surfaces, check for visiting burglars), then get dressed, securing his cross collar shirt in double knots and his hair in a tight bun atop his head, if only to make sure he didn’t have to keep redoing both for the rest of the day. 

At five in the morning, he would throw open the doors of the main house and open up the west wing to get started with the white dough. He kept up the habit of mixing and kneading them himself although he had purchased machines that would have eased the work, but they hadn’t been acquired for his personal consumption. For one, he’d always thought that the secret to a good bao was in the dough and he could never seem to trust the machines with his high quality. 

He would have done enough for the morning crowd by six-hundred hours, just in time for his hired help to work on the fillings while he opened up the gate house and prepared the shop. By seven, his first customers would have already lined up, all regular customers with their usual orders, peaking at around seven-thirty or eight and dying off towards ten in the morning. 

After that, there was nothing left to do but to wait for the day to pass, staying open just in case there was some poor stranger who might have gotten lost and wandered over to their side of the town of NiJedha, across the stream, too far for anyone to drop by just for bao, really. It was anyone’s guess if they could even manage to at least cover the day’s operational costs. Baze wasn’t too worried; he owned the place, every profit they made went back to them and even though he couldn’t say that the salary he offered was competitive, he at least provided his employees free food—and not just the bao that was leftover from the shop at that. 

And, they could come however they wanted and do whatever they wanted so long as they helped with opening and closing the shop. Jyn, for one, liked to take long naps in the west wing after a heavy lunch, and Bodhi himself spent the rest of the day with his nose between his books, in preparation for the imperial examination, driven by his ambitions to one day support his mother. But Jyn was good at catching rats, both the animal and the human kind, and Bodhi was from home—his mother’s home. He felt personally responsible for him because of that—for both of them, really. They were young and spent much of their days in his company, under his influence.  
That didn’t mean that he kept his hands clean of any sort of mischief these children might come up with, though. The days were so dreary, after all, that entertainment was precious little. 

With a sudden start, Bodhi belted out a cry, launching himself forward as though he had plans of vaulting past the trays of bao lined up in front of them. “It’s the captain,” he went on. “Captain Andor, how nice of you to drop by!” he called out to their approaching visitors with wild waving. 

Purposely and stubbornly oblivious of Jyn who snarled, “Oh, the Force _smite you_ , Bodhi Rook!” as she snatched at one of his reviewers to hide her face behind, curling up to a tight ball in her seat. There really wasn’t much space to conceal oneself behind the shop, though. And no, Jyn would gut herself with a fork before she would give the troublesome ‘good captain’ the pleasure of seeing her dive behind the barrier between shop and street or bolt out through the back door. 

Baze watched the drama unfold from a comfortable place between the children, arms crossed, free of care. Bodhi cackled triumphantly on the other side before he wiped his grin off his face and proceeded to bow and salute to the smiling captain, fist and palm near his heart. “Captain Andor, good morning! Kay-Too!”

“Good morning, Master Rook,” the captain replied brightly, hands clasped behind him while over his shoulder, following closely was a pillar on two legs, skeletal in looks and black from its coat to the brimmed hat with a short red tail at the top. The captain himself was donned in this uniform although he was the only one in a black coat that distinguished him as a captain of the town patrol. His eyes swept next to the proprietor, and he greeted him with a deep nod. “Master Malbus.”

“Captain Andor,” Baze replied to the younger man with no further deference to his office. “It’s very good of you to drop by this part of town.”

“Well, Master Malbus,” Kay-Too the droid spoke suddenly through his filtered voice box, scopes widening, “you _know_ why.”

“I wouldn’t be a good captain if I didn’t do my job,” Cassian replied quickly but humbly, even though as Kay-Too had said, Baze knew that was only the official story behind his presence in his shop. The real one sat with the flat book held closely to her face, knees up, so she wouldn’t have to bear witness to the captain gracing her presence with a respectful bow, as he said, “Ms. Jyn.”

“ _Cassian,_ ” the woman behind the book snapped in response. If Jyn had been his daughter, Baze might have been compelled to chide her in the face of her suitor and made several entreaties for his forgiveness. But he wasn’t—so he just chuckled instead. 

Cassian put on a handsome smirk in spite of the rude greeting. He didn’t pursue it (he knew about what Jyn and Baze did to the ones who did, doubtless), choosing to scan the trays of bao laid out in front of him like fruits instead. “So how’s business going, Master Malbus?” he asked. 

“Business is still business, as the Force wills it,” Baze said, reading off a well-practiced script. He wasn’t really a great believer of the all-encompassing Force, see. He thought it was just there, something that lingered in the air which seemed to be a source of miracles for many of the locals. “Please help yourself, Captain.”

“No, I really shouldn’t,” Cassian said, refusing politely with a dip and a shake of his head. “I discourage my men from eating on the job so I must lead by example.”

“Have you taken lunch, after all?” Kay-Too asked suddenly, turning to his owner. “I thought you were saving up for the festival.”

“Not now, Kay!” Cassian snapped suddenly to him, snarling under his breath which Baze thought was a funny thing to do around him, of all people, who also did not have much. 

Without looking at Jyn, he called to her. “Xiao mei,” he said, employing a pinch of gentleness in his voice. “Why don’t you give the good captain a small token of gratitude from our shop?” Bodhi suddenly had a coughing fit and had to excuse himself, sputtering something about tea while Jyn flung the book off her face and finally demanded, wide-eyed at Baze, “Why me?!”

This time, Baze looked at her, nodding at Bodhi’s empty seat. “You’re the one who’s here. Bodhi needs the bathroom.”

“That’s not what he said!” she protested. 

“But you’re still the one who’s here,” Baze persisted in an even tone. He turned to the captain again, who had the grace to avert his eyes as an act of modesty. “Captain Andor,” he raised his fist, fitted into his other hand to salute, “please accept this humble gift from our shop.”

“Please,” Cassian returned the salute, bowing slightly to his elder while Kay-Too stood. Whatever may be said of the young man, he knew his lines and his courtesy very well, “there’s no need for it. I’m just doing my job.”

“And when do we get to accept his payment?” Jyn snorted. 

“Not bloody likely,” Kay-Too informed her. 

“Xiao mei,” Baze sighed, speaking slowly—lazily, really, while Cassian issued a warning finger at Kay-Too who shrugged and asked, “What?”

“One mustn’t be ungrateful,” Baze continued, sweeping his hand to the suddenly self-conscious Cassian. “The captain has been protecting our shop since it was opened. It’s thanks to his vigilance that our neighborhood is completely safe.” Although he wagered that that was just one part of the equation. The other was Jyn’s reputation among petty thieves and suitors of questionable integrity, and the last, doubtless, was because there was nothing worthy to steal in a mediocre bao shop and an empty house. So why would anyone bother? 

Nevertheless, it was a good excuse to extend a helping hand to the captain. Baze couldn’t imagine that his rank, in spite of the fancy title, was one that paid him well but even so, the captain had stayed true to his principles and that had been a cause for admiration. He was the only one of Jyn’s suitors that Baze felt he could approve of unconditionally—and so this was just another opportunity for him to tease the young lady he liked to call his little sister.

Jyn rose, a square of paper in hand, and reached for one of the baos laid out in front of her as she kept her glare and her frown on Cassian’s timid smile. Red mung bean, Baze noted. Cassian’s least favorite flavor. She reached over the trays and practically dumped the thing unceremoniously on the captain’s reaching hand. No fingers brushing accidentally or on purpose—Cassian was a suitor who knew patience and respect. Perhaps also what happened to the last one who attempted it. 

“My thanks,” Cassian said, raising the bao to the shopkeepers as he started to leave. “I best be going now.”

“Take care,” Baze said, raising a hand to wave just when Bodhi returned with a tray of tea and cakes leftover from lunch, at a convenient time to bid the captain, “May the Force be with you, Captain!” 

Cassian waved back to all of them and dug into his bao. 

“There is a smart man if I had ever seen one,” Baze said suddenly, accepting a cup and a plate from his assistant. “By the time he has made it back to the main town, he would have already finished his bao. And no one can say that he has taken his lunch.”

“And they will be moved instead by his dedication to his work,” Bodhi continued his train of thought, keeping an eye on Cassian’s trail although the man and his droid had long since gone. “So they’ll invite him to partake in their meal. And he can’t refuse if he doesn’t want to offend them!”

“Precisely.”

“And you call him the good captain?” Jyn snorted, stuffing her mouth full of cake. “He’s no different than the rest of them.”

Bodhi turned to her, and beckoned to her with his cup of tea. “Did you put on some rouge, after all? Or are you just blushing?” He broke out in a grin when Baze laughed. Jyn glared at him, hiding her flustered cheeks behind her raised cup. 

“I ought to burn your books, Bodhi Rook,” Jyn spat, threatening him. 

“Down, Bodhi,” Baze advised him, gesturing to his vacated seat. “You’ve seen the effects when one pushes Jyn. I assure you, you do not want that on yourself.”

Cassian was the last customer who dropped by for the day, and then they were closing shop. 

As always, Jyn and Bodhi left Baze on his own after they’d cleaned up the kitchen and sorted the shop. He sent them away with some leftovers; Bodhi would have them for dinner instead of spending what little he had left of his monthly allowance, and Jyn’s father, the proprietor of the Erso Pharmacy Galen Erso, was a big fan of his red mung bean baos. After closing the books and locking the cash box, he piled whatever was left of his stocks in two baskets, and went out to town to sell them. 

“Fresh bao!” he sang out as he entered the world beyond the stream, one arm balancing the carrying pole over his shoulder. “Fresh bao, get your fresh bao here!! Three credits for one, seven credits for three.” By then, the sun had already started to sink into Jedha’s horizon, dressing the skies in hues of pink, purple and red, reflected off the golden sands and the heavy shoulders of the weary people. Merchants, artisans, government workers holding minor offices, all heading home—but most of them miners and laborers dragging their feet to their favorite tapcafes. Another long day had finally come to an end but before the last of the sunlight could withdraw from the skies, Baze would try his luck one last time among the hungry and the overworked. “Fresh bao, get your fresh bao here!!”

The idea to peddle his homemade baos had also come thirty years ago when he figured that if NiJedha wouldn’t come to him, he might as well come to them—but these days, he never stayed out much later than the sun. In the past, he used to go on well past dinner time, seeking out the drinkers who might have an appetite for some baos along with their alcohol. Back then, he could easily sell off both of his baskets before he called it a day but a fateful encounter with a local gang had ensured him that that would never happen again. Ever since, he made it a point to be back home before darkness fell. 

So he went through his route as fast as he could, weaving in and out of the Old Market, the New Market, the Blessing Way, passing the numerous temples and the Dome of Deliverance until he could get to the other side of the town—all the while, crying, “Fresh bao! Three credits for one, seven credits for three.” But aside from his regular customers, new attention (of the wanted kind) was difficult to attract, and Baze would have to turn back without having finished both his baskets. 

He was coming up to that point in his trip when he arrived at a crowd huddled next to the lake, some on their feet, others crouched close to the ground, far from the bustle of the main town. And where there was a cluster of people, sales were surely not far behind. Baze hurried to them as naturally as he could, his spiel falling silent as he approached the edge of the circle. “Where do you think it came from?” a togruta had gasped, just as he peered over her shoulder. “This is no good,” the aqualish next to her had despaired, shaking his head wildly. “Surely, this means bad luck!!”

Bad luck, as it turned out, took on the shape of a reptile, coiled up protectively into itself. It was a white snake, Baze realized not long after, thick-bodied and asleep, oblivious to its spectators. 

“If it’s bad luck, then there’s no sense keeping it alive,” said a helmeted sentient, breaking the crowd with a rock the size of Baze’s fist. They raised it over their shoulder. “Stand back.” The crowd gasped and did as they were told. 

But Baze surged forward suddenly with his arms out, crying, “Wait!!” The lake fell silent. The helmet regarded him with some hidden expression that must be disbelief, Baze imagined. Baze himself hadn’t quite caught up with this sudden streak of courage of his but he rode it anyway. “You can’t just do that, the snake has done no harm!”

“It’s bad luck!” the aqualish wailed again. 

“But it’s defenseless,” Baze insisted, turning to the aqualish, who had a scar over his right brow and quivered and hid behind a male human. “It’s asleep, besides. You cannot attack a helpless creature, snake or no snake. This is against the teachings of the Force.”

“So what do you propose to do?” a rodian asked, the helmet turning to her. “We can’t just leave it out lying here.”

Baze knew the rodian was right—even if he managed to convince the present crowd to leave the snake alone, there was no saying what could happen or who could find it after. In that case, he felt that he only had one option left. 

“I will take it,” he volunteered, earning the second gasp from the crowd. “I am almost done with my work. I can put it in my basket and I will carry it far from the town, where it won’t find us.” He had already poised himself ready to do as he suggested while faces turned to each other, tongues held fast by uncertainty. 

“I’ll help you,” the helmet volunteered, dropping the rock. Baze breathed a sigh of relief and thanked them. 

Together, they carried the sleeping snake into an empty basket, moving carefully lest it stirred and bit them. The serpent was heavy, but Baze was a strong man and he was more worried about the sturdiness of his carrying pole and his basket than anything else. 

Shouldering his load with the coiled animal in front of him, Baze bade the crowd goodbye and hurried away, going further than his usual route, his song silent in his lips. He came upon the end of the lake soon after, and decided that that was far enough. 

“Here you go,” he said to the snake, tipping the basket carefully, letting it slither sleepily out of its wicker walls, into the cover of some stubby shrubs under the old uneti tree. Baze kept watch, on his knee, until he was satisfied that the snake would be staying put, at least for the time being. 

A sudden rumbling overhead startled him. He looked up, caught the flashes of lightning illuminating the heavy skies, and knew it was time to go. It would be bad enough to be caught in the rain without an umbrella but it would be much worse to chance upon the local gang, too, who would soon be out in the streets now that evening was coming. Baze started to get up but considered the snake again, curled up peacefully in itself. 

Reaching within his other basket, Baze began to empty it of its contents, laying out what was left of his baos into a stout barrier fronting the shrub behind which the snake hid. “You might just be a plain snake,” Baze said, putting both his knees under him, “but if you are what they say you are, then please accept my offerings as a token of peace. These are good people, they’re hard workers. I pray that you will spare them from misfortune, as I have saved you from harm.” 

He dipped his head after, picked up his empty baskets and hurried back to the town. Truth be told, though, Baze never believed in what he said. In his eyes, the snake was just a snake that had gotten lost but leftover baos aside, he figured that he wouldn’t lose anything by covering his bases, so that’s what he did. He didn’t even know for sure if the Force _was_ against animal cruelty, but his grandmother taught him when he was a boy that all living things was connected to each other through the Force. So he could not simply stand back and watch the townsfolk kill the snake for no other reason than that they were scared. 

The rain fell just as soon as he’d locked the gates. He put together a quick dinner of braised noodles and the leftover pickled mustard greens for lunch, read a book as he brewed some chamomile tea, drank it and finally went to bed. 

That night, as with many nights before, he stood for a time, looking at his empty bed, made only for one and laden only with a single pillow. And as with many nights before, he banished the heavy feeling from his chest, the imagined weight from his shoulders as he dragged himself under his covers, and closed his eyes to sleep.

—

The next day passed in much the same fashion, with the exception of the snake.

In hindsight, Baze realized that the reptile had been a welcome change at least. The thought had occurred to him as he was passing by the same lake, and found himself scanning the lip for the white serpent but all he saw was children playing by the water, a man filling two pails with wet sand and another one sitting comfortably on a low rock, an old staff resting on his shoulder as he chanted again and again to his unseen (nonexistent, really) audience, “May the Force of others be with you! May the Force of others be with you.”

It hadn’t occurred to Baze to think about this…surprise benediction until he was standing two arm spans from the stranger, observing him curiously. He had already heard those religious words even from afar, when his own vocal exercise wasn’t overpowering it, but he’d never expected the appearance of the source. He had a thin black hair, cropped short enough to kiss his scalp, with no discernible facial features other than a smile. But what shocked him more than anything was the fine silver robe that reminded him of an iridescent shell wherever the light hit it, with patterns that might look like clouds at one instant, then scales on another. Disembodied, he thought the voice might have belonged to a young priest—but this man looked more like a wealthy scholar! Who probably had nothing to do with his time and his money…so was he pretending to be a beggar just for fun? The thought irritated Baze even though it was probably just baseless conjecture. 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare, then?”

Baze snapped out of his reverie suddenly and looked over his shoulders, in a panic. 

“Yes, you. I’m speaking to you!”

When Baze found no one, he turned back to the pretentious beggar again—and saw that he was looking at him. Through closed eyes that had never once opened since Baze found him but there was no doubt that he could somehow _sense_ him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have tilted his head sideways and smiled at him.

“Would you like me to tell you your fortune?” the pretender asked in a friendly voice. 

Baze was instantly on his guard. He grunted, crossed his arms and frowned. “Does it say you’ll buy some bao from me?”

“I would if I had any money on me,” the man said without wasting a beat. 

Baze raised his brow. “You have a handsome robe but no money? Why don’t you sell your clothes, then?”

“If I sold my clothes, I wouldn’t have anything to wear, then.” The man’s brows furrowed as he carried his head to the other side and frowned ponderously. “And I am not sure the people would appreciate that.”

That, at least, amused Baze. And he would have laughed if it didn’t feel like conceding defeat to the fake beggar, so he just settled for a restrained smile. Still, it was enough to break down any barriers he might have built between them. The man was poor, in a manner of speaking, and Baze was a man who gave so long as he had anything to spare. 

The man shifted sideways as Baze found his place on the ground next to him, taking the opportunity to rest. Closed eyes peered at the basket closest to him. “Do you have chicken?” he asked. 

Baze slipped out a paper square from one of his baskets and handed the man his order. He received it with a beam and a grateful word. Baze couldn’t begin to understand how the man could seemingly move like a sighted man…without opening his own eyes. Was it some secret martial arts training that honed his skill into near perfection? 

Deeper and deeper, the mystery around this man grew. He watched him smell the white bun, smile, and take a big bite out of it, chewing with gusto. Baze felt a spark of curiosity and gave into it, nodding to him. “Never seen you around here before.”

“ _I’ve_ never seen _you_ before!”

Like an extinguished flame, that curiosity was instantly replaced by burning annoyance. The man grinned at him as he glared at him. 

“You may call me a blind traveler,” he shared, anyway, before he took another bite. 

“Where is your companion, then?” Baze asked. If he truly were blind, Baze figured he ought not to be left on his own. Especially with a robe that expensive…he knew of people who cared less about kindness and more about money. 

“I currently have an opening for that,” the blind man said, then frowned again. “Unfortunately, it will not be a paid job. I can pay in lessons but of late, I realized no one here is quite so fond of verses.”

“You will not find willing volunteers in this town,” Baze said, who thought that not even Bodhi Rook would be happy for a philanthropic work when his goal to become a scholar was to gain some means of a profitable and steady income. “The only language we speak here is money. Everyone is either just too rich or too poor for what you offer.”

“And what are you?”

“Me?” Baze grunted as he rose to his feet, wearing his carrying pole again. The sun’s glare was fading behind bruising skies, and he could tell by the wind that blew that it would be an early night for all. “I used to be one but now I am the other. So I must get back to work.” He inclined his head to him briefly. “Safe travels then, Sir.”

“May the Force of others be with you, Master Bao Maker,” the blind man replied, saluting him with the reduced bao between his hands. The rest of the litany continued as programmed after Baze left, himself putting on his own version. “Fresh bao! Get your fresh bao here…”

Perhaps, he thought, at the end of the day that the chance encounter with the blind faithful had been the source of good luck for him. On his way back through town, a desperate duros had called his attention and purchased an entire basket from him. His father-in-law had paid a surprise visit upon him and his pregnant wife, and they hadn’t had time to prepare for food for which ready-made baos would be of great help. Baze was more than happy to be of assistance. He came away from the transaction with a lighter load and heavier pockets. 

“Fresh bao, get your fresh bao here!!” Perhaps, he thought, as he passed the lake again, tonight he might come home with empty baskets. He wondered idly if the blind man would have seen that in his fortune. “Three credits for one, seven credits for three! Fresh bao!!”

“Right here, Sir!”

With a friendly face, Baze turned around. 

“I’m feeling a little hungry for some bao,” the man said as he approached with a slow shuffle, setting the pace for the rest of his followers. His sandals scratched the dry earth in an unsteady rhythm and a spectacular show of patience, while behind him, he waved a 2x4, similar to what his friends were bouncing on their hands. “Maybe after I beat _your_ face into a pulp!”

All at once, Baze’s good mood faltered, and he glared at the gang leader’s leary smile. He’d tried to avoid this encounter for as long as he could, but fate (and perhaps, the Force for that matter) simply worked against the will of men. This day was turning out to be too good to be true, after all… 

They stopped in their approach, standing in lazy poses with obvious hopes to look cool. Baze was not impressed. He crossed his arms as the leader finally spoke. “So,” he said, “finally. We meet again, Bao Maker.”

“So you finally caught up,” Baze replied, pointing at his outward foot. “Is your leg still giving you a problem?” He’d made sure of that, the first time they met in an old drugstore. Baze was still doing his late night rounds then when he’d caught them robbing the shop and gagging the owner. He’d made short work of them, dropping the leader on an ancient wooden table which turned out to be harder than the bones of his leg. He had hoped then that that would be the last of them. 

But he met them again on his way back home one late night, harassing a youngster who refused to marry the leader. Baze left him with a shattered shoulder blade after, and he could see from his lopsided posture that it didn’t heal quite as nicely as one might have hoped. Ever since then, the gang had waged bloody war against him, and threatened anyone who they might catch patronizing his humble shop, causing a great damage to his customer base. It didn’t help that he had stopped his late night rounds on account of them, as well, all because he was getting tired of teaching them a lesson and he would really prefer not to result to murder. 

Until now. He could plead that it was for self-defense, he thought, looking at their weapons and the sudden increase in their numbers. Getting out of this fight might be slightly more difficult than what he was used to but damn if Baze let them get away without maybe bashing the leader’s nose in. Permanently. 

The leader glared at him with enough hate that would have made anyone who wasn’t Baze quiver. “Would you like to find out yourself?” he snarled. “Because we’ve come to do exactly just that!” His friends rang out their assent. 

To which Baze replied, “I’ll let you do that as congratulations if I don’t break your arms first.” To which the gang cried foul. 

“Okay, that’s enough talk,” the leader said, spitting at the ground. “Get ‘im!”

Baze moved faster than anyone would have given him credit for, throwing his carrying pole off his shoulders and ducking and diving until he had planted himself conveniently in the middle of a screaming circle of gangsters with their lumber raised high. In two counts, he had jabbed the ends of his pole—now his weapon—into two throats and was spinning in a tight circle come the next, using his baskets to smack anyone unfortunate enough to be within his reach. That at least took care of one half of their number. 

The rest he, came at with similar jabs and swings, putting him at great risk of counterattacks but his advantage was that he was strong and his size was intimidating, and everyone else hesitated and relied greatly on their companions for courage and power and by then, it would already be too late and Baze would be coming at them with his fists and his baskets. 

Had this been a fair match—as fair as a ten-on-one could be—Baze would have doubtless claimed the victory before dark. But this was a gang he was dealing with—whose pride he had continuously trampled upon. So after the initial attack, just as he was already lunging at the wide-eyed leader, a new set of gangsters would come in and barricade him from their great boss. 

And Baze would find that he would be surrounded on all sides. 

The leader laughed that hearty laugh of a man having outsmarted another. Baze turned and glared at him. Thus far, he had managed to escape injury but at this rate, he doubted he would be able to survive without maybe a black eye. “Ha!” he said, looking smug. “What were you saying again?”

Baze bristled, fists tightening around his carrying pole, by then having lost both his baskets. He tensed himself, preparing for the next round. 

It came again in a great wave of battle cries, men and their shadows diving for him. A flash of white crossed his vision, briefly reminding him of a swan swooping in. 

All of a sudden, there was a man in a bright dress standing in front of him, turning the yells into yelps of surprise as he beat back the rain of blows with quick tricks of a longer stick. Baze himself let out a noise of his own, jumping back. 

“Ohhh,” the man sang, holding up his staff with one hand like a sword, his other arm folded behind him. A shudder of recognition crawled over Baze. “So is this how it’s done here in this town? Twenty-four against one? Arithmetic isn’t my strongest suit but…”

A happy face turned back to him, eyes shut and smiling. Baze could hardly believe it. “We’ll _see_ how this _adds_ up.” It was the blind traveler from earlier! 

His mouth fell open, but its sound was silent. Baze’s natural instinct may have been to protest but he was struck too dumb to do anything more than express disbelief. He was a _blind man_ , what in the name of the Force was he thinking?! Stick or no stick, trick or no trick, he was at a great disadvantage against a crowd of men who had forty-eight eyes put together. And he had the gall to make a punny joke beforehand! 

By the time Baze had recovered enough of himself to express concern about the fool’s way of handling matters, he had already turned back to face the army. “So,” he said, “which one of you would like to go first?” The question was met with great confusion, the gangsters all shuffling uneasily and casting doubts upon their companions where earlier, they had murder printed clearly in their features. Now it seems like a disabled man was all it took to douse their fire. Baze felt a little relieved that they had enough compassion to hesitate. 

But then the leader demanded the blind man’s blood, and then everyone was braying for it. “He’s blind!!” the leader had said, to which everyone with decent observational skills had agreed. “What’s he going to do? Stumble his way into victory?” The gang let out a roar of laughter. Baze snorted as he went on with his speech about numbers and no one getting in their way. So much for compassion. 

“Kind Sir,” he began, reaching for the traveler’s shoulder, “perhaps we ought to—”

“All right,” the blind man said to the gang with a bright note. If Baze didn’t know better, he thought he might even be excited. “I’ll take that as a yes!” As if that was the answer to the question he had proposed! 

But no sooner had Baze protested this logic than the first crack of wood on head had echoed in the air, and then with a start, Baze realized that the blind man had charged the mammoth crowd without his—or as it turned out, _anyone’s_ knowing. By the time they had figured out what was happening, two men had already hit the ground like dolls cut off a string. And _then_ , finally, the uproar happened. 

It was a great sound, a great rage that exploded outward like a bomb, throwing even Baze off the perimeter as the gang descended upon the blind man, much to his alarm. Three whacks and three men were down. Two yelps and four men were down. 

The tirade of cracks and blows only persisted faster after that, until bit by bit, the wall of fighters was crumbling and Baze could see through their shoulders—

And there he was—in all his glory! The blind man, swinging and spinning, sharp as an arrow, bright as starlight, his pipa sleeves and the train of his robe turning him into a bird as he struck and jumped, pulled and kicked. Everything about him resembled a dance that Baze thought only the Emperor of Jedha should ever have the right to see. His hands flowed even as they punched, the arch of his body was so superb, only the imperial painter should have the ability to draw it! But there he was and he was real—as real as all the wails and the broken bones that Baze was hearing. 

When he fell, it was only because he meant to fall. And when he caught a blow with an unerring hand, he had a smile on his face that seemed to thank the attacker for playing with him before he twisted his arm, broke it, and used his hunched back as a leverage as he rolled over to the other side, landing with a spinning kick. He stretched out his stick to two of the thugs who grabbed it with all their might. “Thank you!” he said, pulled and shoved them all back to the ground with his superior strength. 

Now he was on his haunches, one leg stretched out, his sandaled feet flat on the earth as he flailed briefly before he resolved his hands into the shape of a mouth, fingers pursed so that all the tips met. There was less than a dozen of the original fighters left, all of them surrounding him with 2x4s and even his own staff. Baze held his breath. The blind man smirked. 

He darted—there was no other way to describe him—hands fading into a blur and then he was leaping off a fallen opponent to kick at another. Now he moved like a viper, zipping and jumping, jabbing at his assailants as though his hands were daggers. He flung them off their feet, spun to a crouch, swept out a leg and jumped high to slam his elbow down onto some unfortunate shoulder. He was motion personified, graceful and deadly. 

Somewhere along the way, he had retrieved his staff which soon doubled as a pole on which he launched himself upon his poor victims. Baze saw them pick themselves up in a panic. 

One by one, they ran, screaming. He couldn’t remember where the leader had gone. 

The blind man sighed, dusting the front of his robe as he stood straight as a tree unbowed. “Men are wicked. The teachings of the sages are true.” He pulled at his cross collar, as if it’s y-shape had been at all ruined. 

Perhaps it was that damning truth and the fear for his own life that had sent Baze sliding on his knees, raising a salute to the blind gentleman as he bowed to him again and again, crying, “Master, I am grateful! Thank you, good master, thank you!!”

The blind gentleman turned to him with a frown. He clicked his tongue and waved his finger at him. “Eiii,” he said with a chiding note. “First I am a kind sir, now I am a good master? Come.” With an artful swoop of his arms, he bent to take Baze by his elbows and raise him. “There is no need for such humility among friends.”

“Friends?” Baze sputtered, staring at those closed eyes. 

“Indeed.” The blind gentleman grinned. “Do friends not come to one another’s need? I have come to your aid just as you have come to mine.”

“I?” Baze asked, confused. He thought briefly back to when he had first met this gentleman— “The bao,” he realized. 

“It was a good bao.”

“It’s just chicken and ginger,” Baze said, protesting mildly. He shrugged. “And dough.”

The blind gentleman turned to where the gang took off and indicated the empty space with a sweeping hand. Baze had only just then noticed the great lack of townsfolk around them. “It’s just hands and feet. And a stick.” He turned again to Baze and grinned. 

This, finally, made Baze smile. “Say what you like,” he said, “it was still help.”

“As was your splendid bao!”

“Then perhaps,” Baze began with a slow and careful salute, never mind that the blind gentleman couldn’t see it, or his knowing smirk, “as my friend, you might acquiesce for one more favor to be done for you?”

The blind gentleman clicked his tongue and wagged his finger at Baze again. But then he sighed, clasping his hands at the back once more. “You got me there,” he confessed, his own smirk lingering on the boundaries of his restraint even as Baze grinned. Looking around, the blind gentleman asked, “What time is it?”

—

He led him to his home across the stream, then practically left him to his own devices as soon as he’d shrugged off his carrying pole and his empty baskets. “Please make yourself at home,” he said, never mind that in actuality his house was already practically empty of so much frivolities that no longer benefited Baze—the living room and dining rooms were bare except for the obligatory sitting sets and the walls now only had the shadows of former tapestries and ornaments. About the only thing he had in the way of luxury was a filled bookshelf standing in all its lonesomeness in the living room, but everything else was spartan. Baze only hoped his sudden guest would not comment on his financial status as he was racing down to the back of the house to start a dinner for two. He cooked rice, braised some beef and stewed some vegetables. He brewed some of his finest tea leaves and he was steaming some cakes while he was at it.

He sat the gentleman at the head of the plain table, then panicked when he was reminded that he was blind. How did blind men eat? Should he give him a spoon? How would he know which plate held the meat or the vegetables or indeed, where they were? He seemed perfectly capable of defending himself earlier but there was a world of difference between the battlefield and the dining table. 

He lingered, for a second too long, that his guest took notice and asked him, smiling, “Is anything the matter, dear friend?”

“Uhh—mm—!” Baze cleared his throat, fist on his lips, feeling nervous. “I am just…umm…well,” he gestured vaguely to the food laid out in front of him. “Is there anything else that you might prefer? Or might require?” Perhaps assistance, for example. 

The blind gentleman smiled at him brightly. “The beef smells fantastic and so do the green beans. My bowl of rice is warm,” he said, gesturing to it, “and the fragrance of the oolong tea is enticing.” Baze figured it would be useless to ask him how he came to know of the menu exactly. “There is nothing more to require except, perhaps,” he raised his hands to salute, “a friend to dine with.”

Baze felt a small stroke of relief but was still on his toes. He accepted the man’s invitation when he beckoned to the seat next to him with a hand, taking his place and pouring tea. 

He watched his guest move from the edge of his vision, taking up the longer chopsticks to help himself finally with the food. He moved with an unconcerned lightness that seemed to choke Baze with suspense and a new kind of anxiety—where earlier he wasn’t sure how best to feed his guest, now he was worried he would be disappointed by the food. The gentleman tasted first one, then the other. 

He nodded gravely. “Hits the spot,” he said. And Baze felt as if the skies had opened up and heavenly fairies had descended to sing to him. After a sigh of relief and a breath of thanks, Baze finally dug in. 

“You must give my thanks to the chef,” his guest said after due attention was given to their appetite. 

Baze smiled slightly at the compliment. “Your honored chef is Baze Malbus,” he said in response. 

His guest paused, bowl of rice and chopsticks frozen in the air. “Bao Maker Baze Malbus,” he said, smiling at the rhythm of the words in his tongue. “Well, your delighted diner,” he bowed a little awkwardly with his food, “is Chirrut Imwe.”

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Master Imwe.”

“Please,” Chirrut said, grinning. “Let us not stand on ceremonies. I am no more or less than you are. It would please me if you called me by my first name and just that. Chirrut.”

“Well then,” Baze acquiesced with a deep nod. “In that case, please call me Baze.”

“That was the intention,” Chirrut said, grinning. Baze chuckled, shaking his head. “So, what else is it that you do around here? I saw that you have a shelf full of books! That was rather a thrilling discovery.”

If Chirrut only knew the truth behind it, Baze rather doubted he would be thrilled. All the same, he blushed to his ears—once upon a time, he wanted to take the imperial exam, and that was where most of the books had come from. They were lectures on philosophy, civil law, history and the classics. But the cost of staying alive—of keeping his bao shop running to support himself—had been too much. He was constantly working and he could not save enough for this year’s imperial exam, and the next and the one that followed it. In the end, he simply gave up. Now he only read for pleasure—romances, dissertation, crime fiction. Anything he could get his hands on. 

“That’s all I do around here,” Baze said. “I clean the house, I work, I read. And then I sleep.”

“How exciting.”

“I’m living the life,” Baze said, serving himself more rice. “The house is otherwise too far from the main town, and I have made it a habit to avoid certain individuals—I may have too much time in my hands but I value it more than my machismo.” Chirrut grinned. “I live alone and have kept only those items I deem necessary for survival. That way I don’t spend half my life cleaning excess again and again. But,” Baze gestured to the wall across him, “the east wing should be sufficient for you. It will be spotless by the time I am done with it.”

“You are very kind,” Chirrut said, bowing slightly again. 

“I am only extending a helping hand to a friend,” Baze replied, smiling. After polishing his second bowl, he excused himself and got up. “I need to bring the cakes out of the steamer. They are best enjoyed when they are hot enough to burn the roof of your mouth.”

“Then I shall eat as much as I can, for as long as I still have taste buds,” Chirrut said graciously, grinning.

—

Moving like clockwork, in complete synchronicity with each other, Jyn and Bodhi whipped towards the window at the back of the shop, looking past to the gray courtyard and the stranger within, moving in some form of Tai Chi. Baze sat next to those windows, arms crossed behind his head, weight on the wall. He counted the seconds of silence before they snapped to him with a determined look.

“Charge him,” Jyn demanded. 

“What!” Baze cried. 

“Charge him!” Bodhi agreed, glancing briefly at Chirrut before he locked his wide-eyed attention back on Baze who shuffled further into the cashier’s booth which really wasn’t more than a chair and a messy desk. “You said he’ll be staying in your house indefinitely. You should charge him!”

“Okay, which part of _he saved my life_ do neither of you get?” Baze snarled. 

“Saving lives are well and good, and I’m happy he came to your rescue but,” Jyn sighed, shoulders slouching, clicking her tongue. “You’re always looking for another source of income, aren’t you? Well, here it is!” She waved to the window. “Remember what Baba told you?”

“I am not turning my house into an inn,” Baze grunted, crossing his arms in a show of stubbornness. 

“You don’t have to open it to the public?” Bodhi said, shrugging. “That way, you won’t even need a license.”

“This is coming from someone who will one day sit in an office?” Baze asked. 

“Just hear me out!” Bodhi snapped and both Jyn and Baze snapped in attention. Satisfied, he exhaled and continued, gesticulating, “Okay. That man saved your life. Now he’s going to be staying in your house for as long as he wants to because of this debt which _means_ , he’s going to live off of your money and food.” Bodhi paused for half a second to let that sink in. “But you don’t have enough for two! You’re only making enough for one—yourself.”

“Ought you not to be thinking twice before you speak to your employer like that?”

“Just listen to him,” Jyn snapped. 

“And even if you say you have enough for two? For now?” Bodhi shrugged. “Who can say after a year? Five years?”

“He is a traveler, he will not stay that long,” Baze insisted. 

“How sure are you Chirrut Imwe’s even his real name?” Jyn asked. “What if he’s some escaped felon?”

“Jyn, I am telling you,” Baze shook his head, “there is no way a man who moves like that is an escaped felon. When he glides, he puts my fingers to shame. And I can mend clothes, mind!”

“We’re digressing!” Bodhi snapped, regaining both their attentions. “Do you get what I’m saying, though?” he asked Baze. “If you spend 5,000 credits on him for a year, that’s 5,000 credits you could have spent on yourself for the next year! But if you charge him 100 credits a night—”

“Then that’s what you call a highway robbery.”

“Let’s be real, you’re much closer to the highway than you are to the rest of the town,” Jyn said. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Baze said, raising his hands. “I give up. We will not be discussing this matter again in this shop. Master Imwe will be staying indefinitely for free, and that’s that.”

“I disagree,” Jyn sighed, shaking her head as she twisted her form to face the empty storefront again. “Bodhi and I are just looking out for you.”

“Where do you think he got the money for his robe?” Bodhi asked. 

“At the very least, he ought to help around a little,” Jyn said, crossing her arms. “Earn his keep, pull his own weight, I mean.”

—

Baze refused to share Jyn and Bodhi’s sentiment towards Chirrut, but whether or not he heard it on his own was a different matter altogether.

Come the next morning, Baze woke up to the sound of his furniture shifting and knocking softly. In an instant, he tensed up. The next second, he was off the bed, picking up his sandals to use as flying weapons against the sudden burglar. A burglar! In all his years of having lived in that house, this would be the first time he would have to fend off a thief in the night. Slowly, he pushed the door open and crept outside, sandal raised to his ear. 

The moment he saw the sheen of the silver robe, though, like a mirror that reflected all of the moon’s last light, Baze sighed and dropped his weapon, standing straighter. “Chirrut, what are you doing?”

“Good morning!” Chirrut chirruped brightly, too bright for 4 in the morning. Baze had caught him wiping down the dinner table, one hand on the edge to keep his balance. “I thought you might enjoy a couple more minutes of sleep so I took it upon myself to split your tasks with myself.” Facing Baze, he flashed him a beam. “I hope you do not mind. ” His eyes remained closed. Ever since they had met, Baze had never seen them open. He wondered what sort of blindness he suffered, even though he moved so capably for a sightless man. And where was he getting his new robes? 

“There was no need for you to do this,” Baze sighed. 

“Mmm, but I did it anyway,” Chirrut replied. Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

That was the first time he had ever caught Chirrut in the middle of work. Come the next day, he was at it again—and the next, and the next, soon having graduated to brewing Baze’s morning tea which impressed him a great deal. Not only had he done it to near-perfection, he also managed to do it without burning down the house! 

“You’re treading dangerous territory, Master Imwe,” Baze warned him lightly as he sipped from his cup, relishing the sharpness of black tea, the kick of cinnamon and the hint of tang. How could a blind man brew better tea than him?! Where was he getting these flavors and leaves from? “You mustn’t let me get used to this.” Across of him, Chirrut only smiled. 

The next morning, he got used to it—spoiled with Chirrut’s presence, he slept in. He did wake up a little past 6 o’clock but knew then it was too late and that Jyn and Bodhi had probably gotten the dough machine working, just as he’d taught them. He might as well get some more sleep until it was time to open the shop, he thought, as he closed his eyes. 

Only for a wet rag to come flying to his face, jolting him out of his nap. He looked around wildly and saw that the sun had risen high over the skies. What time was it? 

“Baze, it’s already 7 o'clock, what in the Force’s name are you still doing in bed?!” Jyn screeched. 

He whipped about in complete confusion, running the back of his hand instinctively over his mouth in case there was any drool. Jyn stood by the door, unembarrassed by her employer’s state, fists on her sides, a glare on her face. 

“Get decent and get out there now! Bodhi’s working the kitchen _and_ the till and your friend isn’t helping with crowd control. He’s just standing there, waving his fan!” Having vented off, Jyn marched back out of his room. 

Baze didn’t know where to fix his attention to—Jyn’s receding back after she had caught him in bed, Chirrut having _somehow_ gotten involved with the business now, or the words _crowd control_ which were strange to use in conjunction with his shop. What was there to control when there never was a crowd? 

None of those questions changed the fact, however, that something was terribly wrong in the shop—otherwise, Jyn wouldn’t have gone out of her way for his intervention. He’d trained both her and Bodhi too well for that. He was up on his feet before long, scrambling and stumbling about his room to get dressed, get his hair back in order before he dashed out of his house, the wrong sandal on the wrong foot. 

He’d already heard the sound, the steady and persistent murmur that reminded him of a gurgling river when he stopped at his front door to switch his shoes around. But it was only when he’d run halfway towards the shop that he finally understood what Jyn was going on about—a throng of heads and bunched up shoulders, about a _hundred_ of them, had practically filled his storefront with voices ringing, hands reaching and baskets high. Baze could only stop, and gape at the scene that had unfolded before him, even as Bodhi bumped into him and excused himself as he rushed past, arms loaded with several bamboo steamers, towards the man in an impeccable robe who could be none other than his guest, and his friend Chirrut Imwe. 

He stood exactly as Jyn had described him, waving his fan, crying, “Come one, come all! Don’t be shy, there’s more than enough for everyone. Eiii!” he called out suddenly to someone at the back of the crowd, reaching to them with his fan. “There’s no need to be in a hurry. Stay a little longer, there’s plenty more for everyone!”

“That’s right,” said a woman at the front, turning back to whoever it was who’d been about to leave. “Just be a little more patient and you’ll be happy you stayed, just like us here at the front!” To which the rest of the customers who were next in line nodded and sounded off their assent. 

“She’s right,” echoed Chirrut, waving his folded fan at whoever it was at the back. “As the teachings of the sages go, with enough time and patience, even the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.”

“He’s right!” came the chorus, which seemed to set everyone in a good mood. 

Chirrut joined them with his own laughter, bowing, fan pressed to his chest as he turned to look at Baze’s direction. And as if he could see the look on his face, his smile broke out into a wide grin. 

Eventually, they managed to find a rhythm among them—Baze worked the kitchen while he had Jyn and her iron law work the till, Bodhi the orders and Chirrut the, well, crowd. But the sudden demand was such that they had to close early as they’d already run out of stocks. Baze thought about opening the shop the next day to make up for the lost sales, assuming there was any, but decided that it was a silly thing to do. It was festival day, and everyone would be going out on excursions to watch the stars far away from the city’s light pollution.

Before Baze could close the doors, he’d caught Cassian, his droid, and Jyn in a private conversation just outside his shop. The captain looked flustered as he handed Jyn a red crepe paper which she stared at as if it was a death warrant. Her shoulders looked tensed, and he could practically feel the tension from where he stood several paces back. Finally she shoved the note back to Cassian, mumbling, “I haven’t got anything to wear.”

Then she ran off, back to town. Baze felt his stomach drop, at once unable to look at Cassian and unable look away from him, as well. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath when the rejected man straightened out the invitation he had extended to the woman. 

“Well, what do you expect, Cassian?” Kay-Too chided him, throwing his mechanical arms up. “She’s only a bao seller!”

But all that Cassian could hear was: “She doesn’t have anything to wear for the festival…”

Apropos of nothing, Kay-Too said, “There’s an opening for a midnight shift in the third quadrant. But I’m sure you already know that.”

Looking up to Jyn’s wake, Baze thought he could see Cassian smile. “Ahh, Jyn,” he said, waving his finger at her direction. “Just you wait!”

Dinner was a simple, lazy and hurried affair of egg noodles in wanton soup, leftover roasted sweet potatoes, sliced fruit for desserts and tea which was not the kind of meal Baze had been planning for such an occasion. When he was younger, he’d made a promise to himself that he would eat a feast on the day that he sold out all of his baos. What he never expected, of course, was the amount of stress that was necessary to achieve his goal. 

“What,” he breathed after putting down Chirrut’s bowl, “in the name of the entire history of Jedha, was that?” 

Curling his brows, Chirrut only asked in return, “Entire history? That sounds a bit much, doesn’t it?” He grinned. 

“You know what I mean!” Baze wished he could snap but he was just too tired for that. He fell down then to his chair, looking almost imploringly at his beaming guest. “I have never seen a crowd like that before, least of all in front of my shop!”

“Ah, see, it’s really nothing so difficult,” Chirrut said, reaching for a dumpling floating in his soup. “They were drawn by their good tastes and love for premium food!” 

“That explains nothing, Chirrut,” Baze said, rejecting his flattery and trying not be impressed with how easily he could snap his chopsticks on a dumpling as if he had his eyes wide open. “For the past 30 years that I’ve been doing this, this has never happened before. No matter how many times I advertised or how many times I offered to the gods!”

“Ah! Then finally, your investment has paid off.” Chirrut smiled brightly. Waving to him with his chopsticks aloft, he advised him, “Eat up, before the food gets cold. This dumpling is really delicious! Rich, meaty and a little sweet—just the way I like it.” 

When Chirrut stuffed his mouth with some steaming noodles, Baze knew all hopes for a decent answer was lost. With nothing else to add, he popped an entire dumpling in his mouth, and decided Chirrut was right—it _was_ delicious!

—

With the city empty and the shop closed for the day, Baze spent the whole morning cleaning up, stocking up, and the afternoon cooking up the feast that he had missed the last night: cutlets of pork belly roasted to a crisp, braised duck, spring rolls, dumplings and a whole slab of the fattest fish he could find in the markets.

“You _smell_ delighted!” Chirrut laughed as he leaned into the the star of the night placed in the middle of the table, waving the fragrance towards his place in the table which made Baze extra glad he had steamed it the classic way—with soy sauce, sesame oil and spring onion. It was just too bad he couldn’t serve it in its whole glory but for his blind friend who, anyway, couldn’t see it no matter what presentation he went with, he’d happily cut it up. 

“It’s festival day,” was Baze’s only explanation as he took his place, picking up his rice bowl and his chopsticks. There was, of course, also yesterday’s impressive sale which by now had finally sunken in, and the fact that he still had some money left after all that he spent in the markets. “Since we never left the city like everyone else, our dinner should at least be special.”

“You are always so conscientious,” Chirrut said gleefully, inspecting the different contents of their dinner with the aid of his nose. “I like it better this way,” he confessed after. “We are warm and comfortable, the table smells great, and I am sharing it with a good friend,” he smiled at Baze’s direction, “there is nothing more to want.”

It pleased him greatly to hear that, and to see the pureness of Chirrut’s joy. His heart fluttered, he felt like the best man in the entire galaxy for being here, in this moment now. He could get addicted to this feeling. 

He picked up a cut of pork belly from the plate and laid it atop Chirrut’s rice. “Perhaps you will change your answer when you have tried my pork belly. It’s a specialty of mine.” Chirrut’s smile split wider still to a grin as he grasped his chopsticks excitedly. For these reactions from Chirrut, Baze wished he would have more reasons to do this more often. 

They stayed in the table until there was no leftovers, but the night was still too young for their high spirits so they went out to the courtyard for a little picnic under the stars. 

“The evening’s quite lovely, too,” Chirrut went on about their decision, legs crossed on the mat, fan out while Baze busied himself with their cakes and their tea. “The breeze smells crisp and feels fresh when it blows.”

And the stars, they were out, like jewels on satin meant only for the imperial family or the gods who made them. In this clear night, they were out in full force that even a man who’d lived long enough to control his expectations, like Baze, had to admire them. If only Chirrut could see, he knew he would have a better appreciation for this wonder. 

What a shame that he couldn’t—or could no longer? Baze wondered about his history as he sat himself next to him, gazing at his cheerful profile. “Could I bother you with a personal question?” he asked suddenly. 

Chirrut canted his head to one side again. “Perhaps, if I had already mastered the art of mind-reading, I may be able to answer your question. However, I’m still not a licensed telepath,” he grinned when Baze groaned, “so I can’t really say until you tell me your question.”

That was a surefire way of discouraging Baze to even make an attempt—but when Chirrut noticed his hesitance, he only shifted closer to the man, which made him panic, and blurt out, “What happened to your eyes?” And instantly regret his question. It wasn’t meant to come out like that, so crass and deliberate, and it even sounded like he was annoyed Chirrut was blind. Baze tried to ignore the heat creeping up to his ears. 

Even when Chirrut smiled, as if to say, _Ahhh, that question._ “I lost my eyesight to a righteous cause,” he said. That he answered at all surprised Baze. “I had lost it…defending the helpless.”

He thought back to the day he and Chirrut met, the sweeps of his arms, the arch of his body, his kicks, surer than thunderstrike. How could anyone have gotten through such defenses to ruin his eyes? 

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked another stupid question. 

“I’m sure I must have,” Chirrut said with a single nod. “But it happened in the past, so I can no longer remember the details. But if you are asking me if I still regret it, the answer is no.”

“But you can’t see the stars anymore.”

“Then you’re just going to have to tell me what they look like,” Chirrut responded easily, nudging Baze. The closeness stymied Baze’s thoughts until he could no longer remember how they sounded like to him, being replaced by Chirrut’s weight next to him, the arch of his cheeks, the slight rise of his lips as he stared ahead of him in something that may only be described us contentment. 

“What do they look like?” Chirrut whispered for the dramatic effect. 

Baze shuddered, looking up to the dark skies. “They look like someone had just spilled them…but in a very deliberate way so that there’s no empty pockets anywhere.” Chirrut laughed, which encouraged Baze. He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders. “Tonight they look so near, and big.”

“What else?” 

Baze looked down to Chirrut, who looked upwards as if to gaze through closed eyes. He felt a sudden urge to swallow as he caught the slight smile on his face. “It looks like tonight, they came out only for our viewing pleasure.” When Chirrut’s lips widened to a beam, Baze knew he had done his job. “Orange or peach?” 

“Peach, please,” Chirrut said, his hands opening outwards carefully like a flower, wanting of the cake. For a second, Baze thought he might guide those hands to the cake of his choice but immediately shot it down as it was simply too absurd, even for a night of viewing stars. Why would he even think that? So he served the cake directly to his hands instead, but did take the time to close Chirrut’s fingers around it with his own. Chirrut’s smile brightened at his thoughtfulness. Baze felt a wave of something as sweet as triumph, then.

—

After a quiet weekend, the city was back in its regular rhythm and the shop, Baze thought as he removed the boards, in its usual doldrum. But while the wild crowd was no longer in attendance, Baze, Jyn and Bodhi couldn’t say that the old pace had also returned from the holiday.

The customers came regularly now, throughout the day, and they bought Baze’s baos in baskets because of how far the shop was from the main town. Bodhi had to come up with a queueing system just to satisfy everyone although with Chirrut serving his special kind of tea to those waiting in line, the job was not so difficult. Lulls became a most cherished part of the day; Baze made it so that anyone could take a break during these times for as long as there was at least one person in the storefront, and usually that was him unless he or Bodhi caught Captain Andor making his regular visit, for which Jyn’s assistance was suddenly urgently needed. 

Otherwise, he would find her in the courtyard, facing Chirrut who agreed to train her in his martial arts when Baze had encouraged her to put in her request. It was a much better use of her inherent skill and strength, Baze thought, than napping in the kitchen. He had seen the woman fight and she could beat anyone with just a single stick but she was rough and messy and he worried she might break her bones if she wasn’t too careful. Chirrut had been happy to receive her as his student, and Baze thought he made a fine teacher—just then, after Chirrut had easily dodged Jyn’s barrage of attacks and thrown her to her back, he laughed at her mettle and turned away. Jyn launched herself to his blind side and might have gotten him if he was less prepared. Chirrut corrected her angle then and pointed at his weak side. Baze swore he could see the fire in Jyn’s eyes as she listened with intensity. 

Bodhi, too, carried the same determination, but this time when Chirrut tutored him with his textbooks which, for some reason, he had memorized word for word, on top of other teachings of sages not in the book. The courtyard would be their classroom as well where they would be seated on mats and crossed legs, one swaying sideways to the rhythm of the verse and then the other, picking up after him to finish the words. Bodhi progressed faster with his studies thanks to Chirrut’s intervention. 

“When you finally hold an office,” Baze advised the young man as he laid a chunk of fish belly on his rice one lunch, “remember us, the lesser people. And when you rise up the ranks, don’t forget to look down to where you started.”

“I’m not going to be _that_ kind of official,” Bodhi insisted, half-scowling as he devoured the prized piece of fish. He hid his red face behind his rice when Jyn laughed. 

Baze no longer had to peddle his goods in the town after closing the shop. Sometimes, he could no longer send Jyn and Bodhi away with free leftovers but he did insist they take home some food from his own kitchen or some extra money, otherwise. After that, he and Chirrut would cook dinner, and that, he decided, was his favorite part of the day. 

In time, the seasons changed, and the new year celebrations were upon them, where everyone would leave NiJedha to return home to their provinces and celebrate with their families. The customers came in great waves again, attendance peaking just a week before the new year’s eve. After that, Baze would close his shop, waiting for the city to come back. 

Just as he was boarding up, he caught a familiar sight near his gate—Cassian Andor with his droid over his shoulder, offering a package wrapped in a silken patterned paper to Jyn Erso, a shy but hopeful smile in his face. When Jyn finally took the present from him, Baze thought he could no longer breathe. 

But when Jyn said, “Six o’clock tomorrow morning, in the port,” Baze felt his heart burst. Cassian looked handsome with a glimmer in his eyes and a victorious beam on his face, a sight that thrilled Baze like a lovesick fan. “Thank you!” he heard Cassian whisper. They settled any last details between them, and finally parted. 

As she was stepping through the gate, Jyn caught Baze watching, and shrugged. Baze gave her a smile. 

Perhaps that was what inspired him when he poured out the day’s take on the table for everyone (Chirrut, sort of) to see—units of every color coming down in a heavy waterfall that had Jyn and Bodhi gawking in surprise. 

“All this?!” Jyn demanded. 

“I have never seen so much money in my life. ” Bodhi sounded like he was about to cry. 

“We’ve been doing very well for the past few months, and that is in part because of all of you,” Baze said. “So, I’d like you to accept this as a token of my gratitude. This one’s for you,” he slid a part of the pile towards Jyn’s place and followed up with the others, leaving none for himself, “you, and you.”

“Are you serious?!” Jyn cried. 

“Just split it evenly among yourselves,” Baze instructed, sitting back in his chair. “Make sure you look nice for the fireworks. It’s your first date with Captain Andor. You,” he pointed at Bodhi who couldn’t seem to fathom the presence of so much money in his face, “bring home something nice to your mother. It’s been a long time since you last saw her. And you,” he said, this time to Chirrut. 

It occurred to him then that he didn’t know Chirrut’s story at all. In fact, he barely knew him more than what he saw: the man was a scholar, the man was a fighter. He loved jokes, he loved to share jokes, he brewed the best tea Baze had ever tasted and he was blind. He loved to meditate everyday…but that was it. He didn’t know where he came from. 

And then he remembered all of a sudden—the man was a traveler. Baze had literally passed him on the road way back when and invited him to his house as a payment for saving his life. NiJedha was not his home, otherwise. 

He realized then that he might have finally given Chirrut a reason to leave, in the same way that travelers only stayed long enough to earn back their expenses, and his heart fell. It never occurred to him how much he’d come to depend on the man for his company, his humor and his smile until then. How often he’d found himself turning to his direction, listening for his voice, the rhythm of his feet and his walking stick. But what had he done now? 

“Where _do_ you come from, Master Imwe?” Bodhi asked. 

The blind man smiled at him. “I come from a long way from here,” he said, his voice a little quiet. “However,” he went on after a pause, “it is not yet time for me to go back.”

Baze almost couldn’t believe his ears, and his eyes when he watched Chirrut slide the money back to him. “Are you serious?” was all he could sputter in his shock, mimicking Jyn’s earlier disbelief. Jyn herself whistled at his admirable actions. 

“You could have bought a new robe with that, Master Imwe,” she said. 

“Hm.” Chirrut straightened up then, turning slightly to Jyn. “Does this robe make me look fat?” She snorted while Bodhi cackled. 

Baze was still clambering to catch up with recent events. He tried to act cool, sound cool. He cleared his throat, waving nonchalantly at the money returned. “Chirrut, this is yours. You’ve earned it for your hard work. I can’t take it back just like this.”

“Well,” Chirrut said after a moment, “then consider it as payment for my lodging thus far.” He raised his hands to salute to his landowner. “The balance, I will pay in the future.” Beside them, Bodhi whooped quietly as he threw his hand up and shared a high-five with Jyn over the air. At any other time, Baze might have glared at both of them and insisted on his word. 

But for tonight, he was happy to give in.

—

He slept peacefully that night, and woke up fresh and early the next morning to make baos.

“But the shop’s closed today,” Chirrut argued, sitting cross-legged on a chair at the corner of the kitchen, his chin on his hands on his walking stick while Baze was sorting his goods in his peddling baskets. “I don’t want to have baos for lunch.”

“Why, this is the first time I heard you complain about the menu, Master Imwe,” Baze noted with amusement. Chirrut frowned, and he wondered if he was blushing. He tried not to laugh, and to admit that he thought he looked cute. “These are for the children,” he explained. 

“Children?” Chirrut’s ears perked up and he regained life. “I love children! Whose children are these?”

“No one’s, and everyone’s,” Baze answered, testing the weight of the filled baskets on his shoulders. “They belong to an orphanage at the top of the hill. My friends, Killi and Kaya Gimm, are the ones who look after them. When I can, I give something to them.”

Chirrut smiled. “They sound like lovely people.”

“They are,” Baze said. Satisfied with his baskets, he went on to fill another pair. “Sometimes, even Master Ang drops by.”

“Master Ang?” 

“He’s a teacher, that’s all I know,” Baze said. “But everyone looks up to him. He is like a mentor to us all. If we’re lucky enough, we might even get to meet him.” We, for he had assumed that Chirrut would want to come along—and he had assumed correctly. Chirrut was up on his feet in an instant. Baze grinned. 

“Here, you take this, then,” he said, putting a carrying pole over Chirrut’s shoulder. “And let’s go.”

It had always been a source of comfort for him to be walking without having to sell a basket full of perishables, and for this particular morning, he felt happier still to be doing it. There was a kind of freedom, of bliss that came with a town that was just vacated of its people. Somehow, the air smelled fresher and cleaner, and it was easier to breathe and to move and to be contented. Those of them who chose to stay, for not everyone had other homes than NiJedha, were suddenly friendlier, as if their problems had never existed to begin with. The skies were blue, with white wisps of clouds to make them more picturesque, hanging high over tall, slender trees that grew in number as they neared the steady rise to the orphanage. 

And beside him, the ever reliable music of Chirrut’s walking stick as he followed closely, looking cheerfully onward, the sunlight on his cheeks. He could not remember anyone who could have worn that look better than him. 

He’d been caught admiring his profile when his name had been called. Baze whipped away in an instant, searching for the source of the voice which led him to a Britarro waving for his attention. “Talmo, good morning,” he greeted him, so that Chirrut, too, turned to his direction. 

“It’s luck that we’ve met,” Talmo wheezed, pointing to his basket. “How much for three of your lotus baos? I’m running late for my trip and I haven’t had anything to eat yet.”

“I’m sorry, Talmo, but,” Baze shook his head, “these baos aren’t for sale.”

“What?” Talmo gasped, shoulders dropping as he stared at his misfortune in the face. 

“Eiii, you can’t do that,” Chirrut chided Baze, waving his finger at him. “You heard the man, he’s late and he’s hungry. Besides, opportunities like this only come once in a blue moon!” 

“Master Imwe is right, Master Malbus,” Talmo agreed. “I hope you don’t mind but I’m desperate now. I’ll pay you 12 units for three baos.” Already, he was digging for his wallet to pay for his food. 

But Baze sighed. “Well, that’s too much now,” he said. And then he reached into his basket and pulled out a paper bag from the side of it. “Listen,” he began, bagging some baos, “keep the money but if you want some baos, then I’ll give you some baos. Here.” He handed the order to the stunned Britarro. “It’s not for sale so I won’t accept money for it.”

“But I can’t just take this for free!” Talmo protested. 

“He’s right,” Chirrut echoed again, even going so far as to poke Baze in the arm. “It’s hardly fair for you. Kindness is admirable but we mustn’t do it on our own expense. The sages say we must not neglect ourselves in the service of others!” 

“Chirrut, it’s just three baos, you and I can live with that.” Back to Talmo, Baze smiled. “It’s just three baos. Save your money for something else.”

“Master Malbus—” Talmo offered his money again but Baze raised his hand and shook his head. 

He gestured to the direction of the main town. “You’re running late,” he reminded him. “Travel safely.”

“Th, thank you,” Talmo breathed, beaming widely. “May the Force be with you!” And with that, he was gone, off to a desperate run. 

Baze sighed again as he carried his pole back to his shoulder. “Luckily, I made a little extra. Let’s go then, Chirrut,” he said, returning to their path, but he stopped when he missed the song of Chirrut’s walking stick and turned around, searching curiously for it. “Chirrut?” he called. 

He found him unmoving in his spot, face turned downwards, and the surprising presence of a smile on his face. “Chirrut?” Baze tried again a little warily, approaching him until the man practically threw his face upwards, eyebrows high, almost as if he was ready to finally open his eyes. 

“Hm?” he asked brightly. 

Baze almost jumped, but exhaled softly at his reaction which had been unexpectedly chipper. Whatever that was. He had to ask, though, “Everything okay?” Just in case. Chirrut nodded, anyway, so he left him alone. “Come on, then,” he said, turning back. “We are running a little late.” This time, Chirrut’s walking stick finally followed him. 

It wasn’t much longer after that that they arrived at the orphanage, which had been a temple once, or so Baze was led to believe, but the architecture of the compound was quite reminiscent of it, with bold colors and even bolder carvings, and great creatures at every corner of the roofs, framing landscapes and sceneries that told of stories from the legends and the myths of the Force. They took their time hiking, Baze keeping a close eye and ear on Chirrut who spent the longest time acquainting himself with the trail and the narrow steps drawn between wild grasses. 

But the hard work was all well worth it; the children’s excited peals spilled as the gates opened, and Chirrut’s own grin split his face sideways in the same fashion. Baze felt his heart soar at the sight of his wonder. If he hadn’t been blind, Baze doubted he would have waited for him to take the first step. 

So he reached for his hand, but quickly thought otherwise and aimed for his elbow instead to tug him slightly to the direction of the courtyard full of children. “Come on,” he said to cue him, “I’ll introduce you to them.”

The compound was bright and big and wide open, the ground scrubbed practically white, the wealthy structures that surrounded them painted auspiciously, dominated by red. There was a gaggle of children racing each other to welcome their visitors which pleased Chirrut to no end, who, after quick introductions by Baze, was led carefully by the hand by paranoid youngsters who must have worried that he might trip. 

If it hadn’t been for the appearance of a woman in red robes, her hair covered by her hood, trailed by a younger one in a simpler dress of blue with her thin braids connecting one side of her head to the other, Baze doubted they might have behaved themselves at all but in an instant, the children had dissipated, and reappeared to each the women’s sides before they were sent off to the house at the back. They had a similar countenance about them—kind and good, with virtues that shone from within like a beacon of light. Baze did not wonder why even he was drawn towards their presence. “Master Malbus,” said the one in red, “what a pleasant surprise!” 

“ _Lady_ Gimm,” Baze sighed, wagging his finger at the woman who approached him. “Forgetting our manners again, are we?” 

“You know I hate to call you Baze in front of the children,” she said, reaching up to take the bigger man in her arms. “But it’s so good to see you again!”

“I’m very glad to see everyone, too, Killi,” Baze shared, bending slightly to embrace his friend. The other woman came in for her own embrace next, bouncing as she moved, kicking her feet when Baze lifted her up with an exaggerated grunt and she giggled happily. “And you, Kaya Gimm! Is this why I never see you in the shop anymore?”

“My sister and the children need my help more than the droids,” Kaya said as Baze put her down, looking kindly upon her. “Besides, it’s the new year! A time where the family must be together.”

Baze didn’t contest that. “I brought a friend along, by the way. I thought you might not mind. Killi, Kaya, I’d like you to meet,” he stepped aside then, and swept a hand towards Chirrut standing next to him, his hands up in salutation to the women, staff resting at his hip, “Master Chirrut Imwe. He’s a scholar and an expert martial artist.”

“Master Malbus is speaking too highly of me,” Chirrut said with a handsome smile. “I hope you understand, it is a shame to introduce a nobody and a do-nothing as a friend. But well met, well met!”

Baze sighed heavily and waved his finger at Chirrut’s humor. “You’re selling yourself too short! Kindness is admirable but not in expense of yourself. This is the teaching of the sages.”

“Is that what the pot that calls the kettle black says?”

“I have to stop you before this goes on forever,” Killi interrupted just as Baze opened his mouth to retaliate. “What is important is that Master Imwe is a friend of Baze, and therefore a friend of ours.” She bowed to him. “Welcome to our humble orphanage.”

“Must you keep your eyes closed, Master Imwe?” 

Chirrut’s mouth fell open at Kaya’s sudden question, and Baze’s, too. That might have been the start of an answer for once and for all but Killi had swatted her sister in the arm all of a sudden, causing Kaya to jump away in shock and pain. 

“Killi!”

“You shouldn’t ask such personal questions of Master Imwe, that’s very rude,” Killi chided her sister a little too harshly. “Better yet, why don’t you get the children ready so they can finally eat? Hurry to the dining hall to get them settled, I’ll take care of Baze and Master Imwe.”

Kaya was not happy with this sudden sharpness but did as she was told, anyway. Baze, for his part, decided it was better to stay away from their business when he followed Killi and Chirrut, who insisted to be called by his given name, as they climbed up to the central house. 

They had made short work of the baos, as did the children who had shoved them into their mouths as soon as they were given their share. Some time later, Killi took Chirrut away to give him a tour of the place. 

“But I thought you didn’t want to bring in boarders?” Kaya asked at the end of Baze’s summary of how he’d met Chirrut. 

“Well, I wouldn’t call him a boarder, I didn’t take him in as a boarder,” Baze explained, crossing his arms. It was a better move than if he were to scratch his head, which he had been tempted to. “He was a guest, who had stayed this long to become my friend. He helps in the shop and he helps in the house, which I think is very kind of him.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Baze popped a brow at the woman leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, a friendly smirk on her face. They stood at the front of the dining hall that was filled with more than a dozen children arranged in two long tables. The windows were thrown wide open, and an easy breeze flowed in. 

“I’m old, but I’m not that old yet,” Baze reminded her. 

“I mean,” Kaya laughed, “I wasn’t asking what you were keeping him around for. There was no need to defend your decision.” She smiled at Baze, but Baze refused to acknowledge her insight so he frowned at her, and tried not to blush although that was a feat that was a little more difficult to triumph over. “I saw how you looked at him,” she went on, “when he was playing with the children. You smiled, you were distracted while we were emptying the baskets. Even in the courtyard…you were full of life!”

“Chirrut is just stubborn sometimes, see.”

“Says the pot that calls the kettle black,” Kaya snapped, visibly proud of her wit. She smiled in the face of Baze’s stunned glare. “He makes you happy. I hope he realizes that.”

Baze stared on in disbelief. Kaya had never been so bold towards him in the past. He opened his mouth to speak—he had to say something—but was silenced with the boom of a laughter that demanded, “What’s all this racket now?” Saved by the bell, it seemed. 

Like secret lovers caught in the middle of a private conversation, they snapped to the old man who appeared with a tall staff that rang with his steps. He was dressed in the same red robes as Killi Gimm was, and he was bald with a wide forehead, full of so much knowledge. His cheeks were flushed with all the jolliness he exuded as he came in from a side door, blessing the children with a gesture of his hand as they came up to pay their respects. “May the Force of others be with you!” 

“Master Ang, you’ve arrived!” Kaya called cheerfully, a bit too cheerfully it seemed. Baze wanted to nudge her, but then stopped himself. It wasn’t like they were plotting in secret. 

“Everyone sounds like they are having fun, how could I keep away?” Master Ang laughed on as he shared the same blessings with the woman, and then Baze when he greeted him. “Master Malbus! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” 

“The past few months have been very good to me and left me a little to share with the children,” he explained. But when Kaya nodded knowingly, eyes alight, he didn’t stop himself from nudging her this time, which made Master Ang laugh again. 

“One mustn’t keep good news to oneself for it is selfish to do so,” Master Ang said, stroking his long beard as he waited for Baze to go on. 

Kaya gave him a nod when Baze looked at her as if for her encouragement. Smiling a little shyly now, he went on to Master Ang, “I met a friend who has been very good to me.” The old man laughed again. “In fact, I brought him here so I could introduce him to you but Killi disappeared with him some time ago.”

“Then we will meet in due time, yes?” Master Ang smiled with confidence. 

Chirrut and Master Ang never did meet. After sharing a meal with the children and lingering a little, Master Ang disappeared to offer some prayers, and then Chirrut took his place with Killi beside him, flush with excitement about all that he’d learned. 

By the time they had left the orphanage, it was already late and a strange wind was picking up. The skies had taken a bruised color, but it was much too gray for an early night. 

“You’ve got a long way to go,” Killi said as she handed them both umbrellas. “Travel safely, and may the Force of others be with you.”

“A storm during the new year holidays,” Baze observed as they started on their way back. “I’ve never known of that.” And at first he didn’t believe it. 

But then a drop of water fell, and then another. Soon enough, a steady curtain had come pouring all over them. And soon enough, the world would be reduced to nothing more than rain and mud. 

Chirrut cried his name under the protection of an awning of a closed shop. On their way home, they’d passed a young man dragging a rickshaw with an old woman that had gotten stuck in the wet earth. After he brought Chirrut below the roof, he went out in the rain to help, surrendering his umbrella to the rickshaw driver, assuring him he had another. The man thanked him then and went on his way. 

He shared Chirrut’s umbrella, but it was too small for the both of them that by the time they finally got home, Baze was soaked to the bones, anyway. 

“Kindness is admirable but not in expense of yourself,” Chirrut recited as he wandered out of Baze’s bedroom, into the living room, with a pile of towels in his hands. “Well whichever sage taught that clearly hasn’t been stuck in the middle of a storm yet!” 

“The teachings of the sages are not true, then?” Baze chuckled, watching Chirrut take the chair next to his. He really ought to start stripping and changing into something dry before he caught a cold, but somehow, Chirrut’s presence had made him very conscious of himself, never mind that the man was blind! Just the same, it was not appropriate, he thought. 

“Perhaps not all of them, as I had been led to believe,” Chirrut said, unfolding the towel at the top of the pile. “Well, you ought to take your shirt off, before you catch a cold.” He didn’t wait for him, though, before he reached for him, groping blindly for his face until his hand fell upon his cheek. Having found him, he followed it up quickly with a towel on the other side. 

His touch was…warm. And smooth—not what he would have expected of a martial artist and a traveler whose constant companion was a wooden walking stick. Chirrut shifted his hand and his fingers until he was cupping Baze’s outline gently, using it as an anchor of sorts so he didn’t lose his vantage point while he pressed the towel on Baze’s neck, his shoulder, his chest. 

He wished he would open his eyes, he thought. Baze wanted to see what they looked like. He wanted to know the shape of Chirrut’s cheek, the crook of his neck. He wanted to stop him just then, in his selfish desire to just look at him, and memorize his every contour, every color, so he could paint him again when he slept. It won’t be perfect, but it would still be better than nothing. If he had been conscious of his thoughts, he would have jumped suddenly and blushed terribly, but this time he was too preoccupied with his admiration, that he forgot anything else existed beyond it. 

Baze hadn’t even caught his hand wrapping itself gently over Chirrut’s, stopping his motion. Chirrut didn’t fight it, but instead, smiled and nodded at his action. “Okay,” he said. “You’re a big boy now who doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.”

“You should look after yourself, too,” Baze said as he took hold of the towel. Chirrut’s hand fled his cheek. He shuddered then, as if a cold draft had just blown through the door. “Go get changed. I’ll make us tea.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. 

The storm did not let up until well past dinnertime. They had chicken soup with four herbs, spicy vegetables and ginger milk curd for dessert. They stayed up all night, waiting for the rain to stop until Chirrut left the main house to finally sleep. The night was cold, and the wind smelled fresh. 

The next day, Baze was sniffling and coughing. 

Chirrut sighed from across the table, a warm bowl of peanut dumplings between his hands. “You should have changed into something warm and dry the moment we got home. You sound terrible!”

“Nothing a hot cup of tea and some rest can’t fix,” Baze said with a dismissive wave, followed by a sniffle. “This will pass,” he assured Chirrut, but his nose was stuffed, and he had a headache that was ready to crack his crown in four under the pressure. Half the time, he felt like he was breathing underwater. 

Chirrut sighed, shaking his head. “You have a really low cold tolerance,” he said, guiding his spoon around the bowl to scoop up a dumpling. “I should have known.”

That night, Baze was struck with a scorching fever. It came with the dusk, as Baze lied down to nap, rising with the moon. Chirrut had only caught on when he wandered to his bedroom to ask him what he wanted for dinner. 

“Aiya, you’re burning up!” Chirrut gasped, pulling his hand off after having tested Baze’s forehead. He was covered in sweat, and shuddered under his blanket. Baze wished he could try to speak but his mouth was hot and his throat was dry. He was too weak besides, and too dizzy. All he could do then was to moan and groan. “Aiya, if I’d only known this morning you would come down with a fever, I would have…” he trailed off. 

Baze opened his eyes in time to see him jump from his bedside, walking stick in his hand. “I’ll make some tea and look for medicine. I’ll be back very soon,” he promised him, but Baze didn’t hear him. 

He reached out, and caught Chirrut’s hand. His fingers tingled, and were too weak to hold on for too long but Chirrut caught them before they could fall off, wrapping them warmly in the folds of his hands as he knelt by his side. “Stay,” he whispered softly, causing Chirrut to smile. “Your presence gives me comfort. I feel better, already.”

“As you should,” Chirrut responded in kind. “Close your eyes, and when I return, open them. Then it will be like I never left to begin with.” A plan that made Baze smile and chuckle, or at least try to. He reached out to Baze’s cheek. 

Baze felt his thoughts stop at that touch, even after Chirrut had retrieved his hand. When he closed his eyes as the man had told him, too sick to keep them open anyway, he dreamt of his cooling touch, seeping his comfort from that small memory. 

The rest of the days passed in a delirious stream, reduced to a sea of fragments, both real and made-up. He was in and out of consciousness, of dreams and recollections. Often, he saw his mother sitting beside him, a datapad in hand, or his grandmother snoring or his father, leaning close to check on him before he left to attend to other businesses. Others, he saw Chirrut, meditating by his bedside, or washing him with a damp cloth, a smile on his face. He served him tea and congee, gentle and accurate like a sighted man. He was there whenever Baze should call for him; sometimes his seat would be empty and he would call for him to see if he was still there. Sometimes…sometimes he just called his name for no real reason. 

Chirrut would sigh by the doorway, smiling at Baze. He was always smiling at him; Baze never saw or heard him complain about taking care of him, and he hadn’t the strength to consider Chirrut’s real feelings just then. “If you can’t stand to be apart from me, maybe I should just share your bed,” he teased. He would always come right in after a joke. Sit next to him, touch his forehead, change the cloth. He would always ask him, “How are you?” 

Baze would always say, “Better.” Sometimes: “Now that you are here.” Sometimes, he would also make an effort to sit up, and Chirrut would help him but only when he could manage it. Otherwise, he would lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and press firmly until he was on his back again, and he wouldn’t fight it. “What day is it?” he would ask. 

Chirrut would grin. “It’s a good day to eat my specialty,” he would answer, or, “It’s a perfect day to see your face.” He never told him the date, or how many days have gone since he fell ill. Baze suspected he didn’t want him to worry about his recovery. 

“You’ve never seen my face,” Baze chuckled once. 

Chirrut shook his head then, and touched his cheek gently. “I see it in my dreams,” he said. 

He never, for once, considered the true depth of Chirrut’s words—only that they gave him comfort, and for now, that was enough. Everything else, he would think about when he was better, he thought. 

When he awoke again, his room was dark. It was night. 

Baze was trying to calculate—imagine, really—a time and date when he heard Chirrut’s footsteps and found him by his side, touching his arm lightly. His skin still burned, and stung upon contact but he kept his flinch between his teeth, hoping Chirrut wouldn’t hear it. His arm snaked behind his shoulders. Before Baze knew it, he was carrying his weight up until he was somewhat upright. 

“Drink.” That was all Chirrut said as he offered him the bowl. Baze could smell the fumes of liquor, but the flavor he tasted was different. Tangy, salty, sharp and a little bitter. Shock electrified him, his arm shooting out to shove the drink away in his disgust. 

“Don’t!” Chirrut panicked, raising the bowl over his shoulder so that Baze missed his target. “It’s snake wine. It’s good for you, it will help you recover.” Baze groaned, resting his head on Chirrut’s shoulder. After the brief excitement, he felt dizzy and sick. This time, when Chirrut offered the bowl again, he didn’t fight it. He couldn’t, anyway, he was too weak. And if Chirrut said it was good for him, he trusted him. If it turned out to be poison, he wouldn’t be any wiser. Baze finished the foul thing bit by bit, to the last drop. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. 

When he woke up, he was surprised to see morning light flooding into his room, and more still that he could see it with an awareness he’d never found in the past few days. His head felt clear, as if something had sloshed away all that was in it to leave only a barren cavern, and he could open his eyes wider than a squint. His limbs were still heavy to move, but because of this, he felt amazingly strong. 

“Where did you get that?” he asked Chirrut as soon as he could. Chirrut was feeding him his daily rice porridge, seated next to him. “I didn’t know we had snake wine.”

“It’s there in one of the storage rooms,” Chirrut said, smiling gently. “You must have forgotten. Now eat; now that you can actually carry your head, maybe you’ll finally finish the bowl.”

Baze’s first instinct was to doubt that he’d forgotten the contents of his own storage room, but he also knew that he was too sick to function properly so he didn’t question it. 

He was still too weak to stay conscious in spite of the miracle wine, and he still had fever dreams but no longer as much as he used to. For some reason, though, the ones that do come felt more frightening than the last ones, and he wondered if this was all because of the snake, which had made him much more aware of them now. 

In the last of his fever dreams, he would find Chirrut at the dining table which he could see from across his open door. He had rolled his sleeve back to expose his forearm, and with a blade in hand, drew a line on its meat. He let it bleed into a bowl, which he mixed with the same knife he had used to create the incision. 

In the fever dream, Chirrut would go on to offer the drink to Baze, but now filled with alarm, Baze rejected it, turning away and waving it off with his arm. He could barely get the, “No!” through his teeth, what with his horror. 

“Baze,” Chirrut tried again, taking him firmly but not painfully by the shoulder. “It’s the same wine—”

“ _No_ ,” Baze insisted, shaking his heavy head. “It has your blood in it.” He inhaled; he felt sick, like any time now, his emotions would get the better of him and make him throw up. He already felt nauseous from moving so suddenly, making it difficult to think but he fought it still and continued, “If I keep drinking, you will drain yourself.” He breathed again. He didn’t know what he was saying but that was neither here nor there. He just had to keep talking, get the words out. “I cannot…I will not let that happen. Please, Chirrut.” Finally, he turned to face him, searching for his answer in his face. 

And of course it was a smile, of course it was a laugh. “What are you saying?” Chirrut asked gently. “Come now, Baze. I would never feed anything that would bring either of us to harm.” After a pause, he added, “Look, it’s dark now. But in the morning, you will see that I am not wounded. Drink this for now.”

“You promise?” Baze rasped, and smiling brightly, Chirrut nodded. He believed him, though. He knew Chirrut wouldn’t lie to him. So he obeyed, finally, and fell fast asleep. In the morning, Baze asked to see both his forearms, and saw that Chirrut was right—not even the vestige of a scar was on either of them. That was the last of the fever dreams.

In the days that followed, he continued to regain his strength and his health until finally, at the last day of the new year holidays, Baze could say that he had recovered completely. 

He let out a heavy sigh, sitting across Chirrut, drinking tea. “Sick for an entire week. I can’t believe it.”

“Now, now, Baze. What’s important now is that you’ve recovered,” Chirrut said to him gently. “And what you ought to do next is to exercise. Tomorrow, we’ll be opening the shop again.”

“Shop again, eh?” Baze put on a little smile. “Shame, I thought since we had a week…I might take you to other places here in Jedha. It isn’t often that I spent the holidays with company, so I thought that we might travel a bit to enjoy ourselves.”

Chirrut shook his head. He slid his hand across the table until he found Baze’s hand, and took it. “Some other time,” he said. 

Baze’s eyes fell upon the contact, suddenly keenly aware of his beating heart, and the pulse in his ears. He swallowed hard, looked up to Chirrut’s gentle face and began, “Ch, Chirrut—” 

Someone banged on the door just then, shocking Baze out of his words and both of them out of their touch. “Master Malbus?” a young man called. “Master Imwe! It’s Bodhi Rook.”

“Well someone’s early,” Chirrut observed with a grin while Baze rose and hurried to the main gate. This was a very irregular thing to happen and he worried that the cause was an emergency. He pushed the door open, expecting the worst. 

But Bodhi’s face glowed when he beamed and saluted to his employer. “Happy new year,” he said. “Pardon me for disturbing you but Mama had asked me to give this to you.” What it was was an old silver containing unit, still warm when Baze received it. “It’s steamed taro. Mama’s specialty.”

“For what reason?” Baze had to ask. Behind him, he could hear Chirrut approaching and asking about their visitor, walking stick tapping softly. “Not that I’m ungrateful…”

“I, it’s for the money,” Bodhi said, fidgeting in embarrassment. “You said to bring her home something nice so I gave her everything. Please, it’s the least that we can offer after all that you’ve done for us.”

“The money wasn’t a favor to be returned, it was your due,” Baze sighed. He gave one glance at the box again. “Well, I won’t be rude and insist that you take this back. It smells good, besides. Tell your mother thanks from us.”

“Bodhi!” Chirrut appeared finally beside Baze, smiling at the young man’s direction who greeted him brightly. “Won’t you come and join us for tea? The steamed taro would be a perfect match, we could share it.”

“If I did, Mama would have my head,” Bodhi laughed, excusing himself. “Anyway, I ought to look into the Ersos, as well. Jyn tells me they’ve returned from their trip.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Baze said, sending him off. When he had gone, he turned and grinned at Chirrut, showing him the steamed taro, never mind that his eyes were closed. “I’ll cook some pork in black beans. It will be good with this.”

“Hmm…” Chirrut pursed his lips thoughtfully, brows frowning as he traced his chin with a finger. “Are we sure you are allowed that now? You’ve only just recovered from your flu, after all. But it would be such a waste and a show of bad manners if we just throw it away. Better if I eat it all.”

“Not that I’m ungrateful for all that you’ve done for me,” Baze began, going around Chirrut to head back to the main house, “but this is my reward for putting up with your mediocre cooking skills.” 

Dinner, then, was as he’d said. He turned in early that night but slept into the following morning. When he opened his shop, a crowd of a dozen had already formed outside his shop. Baze apologized for the late opening, but no one seemed to mind waiting for him.

—

Another week passed. With the bao shop back in business, there was much to be done and hardly any time for personal reflections—but Baze never let a day pass without the company of his thoughts. Of his memories and what he was yet to admit to himself were daydreams, wondering what life would be like if he weren’t alone to face it. If he had someone to share it with, for instance. Someone along the lines of Chirrut Imwe, who would smile every time he saw him, and who would touch him so gently, it made Baze feel like the most special man in the galaxy. The days he spent sick in bed felt like an interminable time of nothing but weakness but it had pockets of brightness that drew Baze back to it, like when Chirrut held his hand or cupped his face, or stroked his hair or wiped the dribble of porridge or tea or wine from his lips. Ever since he’d gotten better, he had never been so close to Chirrut again, although the man still laughed at his joke and hung out with him at the kitchen while he made the baos or prepared their dinner.

Or drank tea, as they did now in the dining room. Since that afternoon from a week ago, he had never found the opportunity to speak to Chirrut about the two of them, whatever they were, again. 

Perhaps until now, when night had fallen and the world outside was quiet. Even between them, their conversation had fallen silent. Baze understood then that the timing was right, but none of the words he could think of seemed to match the occasion and he couldn’t commit. 

Until Chirrut had forced his hand, looking up from his tea suddenly, perhaps because he’d caught him staring. 

“Do you ever think about your future?” Baze sputtered in a moment of panic. That question did not come out as smoothly as he’d hoped. 

Chirrut grinned, though, and asked in turn, “That’s quite a deep question, isn’t it?” Baze shifted backwards defensively, blushing furiously. “The future…is a vast pool that only those with the closest relationship with the Force can tap into. Not even the wisest sage, or the most virtuous heavenly fairy can claim this if they do not have this kind of connection to the Force.” He lowered his blind gaze, and continued, “Which part of the future do you ask about?”

“The part that concerns most men, I guess,” Baze said after a slight pause, smiling a little. “Do you ever wonder where you would be in the future? Who might be with you, if you could choose to have a companion?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” Chirrut’s smile softened slightly. “A dear friend, a sworn family, a beloved. Even I am not so different from everyone.” Baze quirked his brows a little. “Sometimes, I dream of building a house, a home, with someone to share my life with. We will have children, and many of them. And maybe if I’m lucky,” he grinned a little, “I will call him guan ren, and he will call me lao gong.”

Guan ren. _Husband._ How sweet it must be to be called that. 

After that, Chirrut finally retired to his room, and him to his own. With the empty walls. And the empty bed. 

How it must feel to have Chirrut to hold next to him, Baze thought, as he laid his head down on his pillow. In his dreams, at least, he was there. And he could listen to his quiet breaths, and the steady beating of his heart. 

Or the strike of a blade on wood, which was not a sound he was used to hearing this far out from the main town. His eyes flew open in an instant, ears straining in the quiet night for the source. He held his breath, waiting for a responding noise. 

At the second clash, he was up from his bed, thoughts flying to Chirrut Imwe at the other section of the house. Another blow followed it, and then another. They came ringing clearly from the direction of the courtyard, and these were not the heavy, deliberate sounds of someone chopping wood. These were sharp, and rapid fire. Like a fight. 

Baze couldn’t believe that he would hear it from his courtyard of all places but he flew out of his bedroom, slippers slapping noisily down the quiet hall until he burst out into the dark night, armed with a carrying pole, where he stopped. Frozen. 

He couldn’t believe his eyes—he _had_ heard true, there was a fight in his very own gates! But more shocking to him still was the sight of Chirrut Imwe, fending off a stranger in rags the color of Jedha’s sands with a breathing apparatus on their face. A burglar? After so long of having lived in this side of the town, across the stream? What an odd thing, too, that the burglar would choose to attack when he was no longer living alone! It was almost too surreal for him to accept. 

But the burglar had a sword, and Chirrut only had his walking staff which never seemed to break no matter how much he parried with it. They spun in circles, Chirrut’s train flashing silver in the scant light while his poor opponent darted and missed, jabbed and missed. Chirrut whirled to their blindside while they stumbled for balance and whacked them up the back of their head. There was no way they would ever get past his iron defenses. 

If only he hadn’t stopped for one second, with his side wide open and unguarded. Baze wanted to cry when he saw it happening before his very eyes but disbelief stilled his tongue and his heart—until it was too late. The sword flashed briefly as it pierced Chirrut on his left, just under the last rib bone. It was almost too much to watch him cry and crumble to his knees, his faithful staff falling from his hand. Him—Chirrut Imwe. 

_His_ Chirrut! 

“ _Lao gong!!_ ” came Baze’s roar as he bolted down the courtyard and swung his carrying pole at the burglar who stumbled back with their red-tipped sword. They threw a clumsy swing and broke Baze’s weapon, but that also gave him two blunt daggers which he used to jab at the smaller sentient in quick successions. The mask came off and revealed a stunned aqualish that seemed to resonate in Baze’s memory. 

When he turned and ran, though, Baze didn’t give chase. He dropped the broken pole to the ground as he fell to Chirrut’s side to cradle him—or try to. The man was bleeding and moaning, hand and his pristine silver robe stained red as he clung to his wound, writhing weakly. “Chirrut!!”

“It’s okay,” Chirrut breathed, his eyelids heavy. “It’s okay. Don’t call for help. Just bring me inside the house. Please.”

Baze nodded, fighting off his tears and his shaking hands as he slipped his arms carefully under Chirrut’s half-limp form and lifted him. Chirrut repeated his litany to Baze, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” and assured him, “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me…” in a quiet chant but Baze did not listen to his words. He only heard his voice as he carried him through the door, into the main house. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Chirrut whispered on. 

Baze wished he could call for help as he laid him down his bed and began to dress his wound, but Chirrut had asked him not to and his ease of mind was more important to Baze than anything. He stayed beside him that whole night, watching him breathe even as Chirrut finally fell asleep. He felt completely helpless and useless. 

But he didn’t know what else he could do, except to look after his husband.

—

Baze was in no place to open his shop the next morning but Jyn and Bodhi insisted he do to keep the questions quiet—so they did. The official story was that Baze and Chirrut had eaten something last dinner that didn’t sit well with them and so were indisposed.

As for Jyn Erso dragging Cassian Andor, and for that matter Kay-Too through the gatehouse, the reason was that both public servants wanted to look into their good friend—not that they wanted information on the attacker. 

Baze met them in the dining hall, where Jyn took on the task of serving tea. He handed the mask to Cassian who studied it closely before he gave it to his partner. “He’s an aqualish, with a scar over his right brow,” the bao maker said, voice heavy from exhaustion, something that was evident in the lines of his face. Even his hair had only been done haphazardly. “I know I’ve seen him somewhere…but I can’t remember where.”

“There can’t be that many of them,” Cassian said. “We’ll ask around, and we’ll keep you posted. If you come up with anymore leads, please let us know.”

“I’ve found the location where the breathing apparatus was bought,” Kay-Too announced suddenly, facing the captain. “It’s in the Old Market.”

“Well, we’d better get going then,” Cassian said, rising without having even sipped from his cup. Baze followed. “Please send our regards to Master Imwe.”

Baze nodded. “I’ll see you out—” 

“I’ll do it,” Jyn said, stepping between both men quickly. “Don’t leave Master Imwe alone.”

Baze thanked her then, and said goodbye to the captain and his droid as they took their leave. Cassian and Jyn’s hands met as if they were magnetized to each other as they stepped out of the house. 

He’d been about to return to his bedroom when he heard the engines of a repulsorcraft just outside his gate, and then later, Jyn calling out, “Baba!” 

Baze saw the Ersos crossing the courtyard from the entrance to the main house. Jyn was two steps ahead of her father, who hurried with a stuffed and worn satchel hanging over one shoulder, his mostly gray hair bound at the back although some had come loose. Galen Erso was probably only a little older than Baze, but from his shoulders and his brisk steps, he could tell that the man had not let his age and his occupation mar his strength. 

He thanked him for coming, although it was Jyn who’d insisted to comlink her father, and showed him to the bedroom. Before Jyn could follow, Baze held her back to ask her, “Is Bodhi alone?” 

“Bodhi’s fine, he’s got his queuing system going.” Jyn shrugged. “And it’s working really well. I’ll head back after this.”

For now, they stood back while Galen took Baze’s seat beside the sleeping Chirrut and with a pair of silver scissors, snipped through his bandage, and then his fine robe. Baze had to hold his breath when he peeled the fabric to reveal the wound where Chirrut had been stabbed. 

Galen sighed, sitting back. “Your friend is lucky,” he said, returning to the open satchel beside him. “The bleeding seems to have stopped for the most part, which means he must have avoided any major injury to the organs.”

“So he’s going to be fine, Baba?”

Turning back to his daughter, Galen smiled almost shyly and said, “Yes, Stardust. He should be fine.”

Baze and Jyn breathed out in relief. Jyn smacked Baze with a light fist on his arm, and Baze only smiled in return. 

“I would still advise you to call a licensed doctor for a more formal diagnosis,” Galen went on, bringing out a tiny lacquered red box from the depths of his bag, its white flowers painted carefully. Baze suspected this was an inheritance from his late wife. “For now, I’ll stitch him up. I can at least do that much.”

“A, actually, if it can be avoided—” Baze started in alarm, but trailed off just as soon when Galen turned to look at him. For a second there, he wondered if he ought to just let the man do as he wanted, but later on decided he might as well push through after having interrupted him, anyway. 

He threw his hands up. “He’d asked me not to call a doctor,” Baze revealed finally. “And if he wakes up to see stitches…”

The Ersos turned to each other, exchanging quiet glances. Jyn only shrugged at her father. Galen turned to Baze again, snorting softy. “Fortunately for you,” he said, “I am a pharmacist, not a doctor. I’ll teach you how to bind him up.”

He left Baze with some supplies from his store before he finally left, escorted by his daughter. Baze saw him off as far as the door, waiting until father and daughter had left through a discreet door before he returned to Chirrut’s side. 

Baze exhaled and sat heavily, reaching to brush Chirrut’s thin hair lightly. He ought to think about lunch, he thought. Chirrut had never skipped a meal during the days when Baze had been down with a flu. 

But when he started to get up, a voice suddenly mumbled, “Are they gone then?” 

Baze was back in an instant scooting closer to the man who stirred in his bed, groaning. He never opened his eyes, so he never knew that he might have been awake the entire time Cassian and Galen had been to visit. “Chirrut!” he rasped, choking with uncontrolled relief. “Chirrut, you’re finally awake.”

“Funny,” Chirrut croaked, frowning. “I seem to recall you calling me by a different name—or was that all a fever dream?” He grinned finally, at the triumph of having said something funny, and Baze laughed. Chirrut was back— _his_ Chirrut was back! 

Baze’s hand returned to Chirrut’s scalp. He looked at him lovingly. “I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you,” he said. “Lao gong.”

—

He couldn’t stay up for much longer, no matter that Baze had asked him to stay awake for lunch. After that brief conversation, Chirrut returned to sleep.

Chirrut woke up once everyday, but only for a little, just long enough for him to take some food and reassure Baze that he was still alive and healing. Baze changed his bandages frequently but couldn’t tell if anything was happening. A scar had appeared in place of the injury, but that was all. 

As for the aqualish, he surrendered to Cassian and Kay-Too after they had found him in his house. 

Three days after the attack, Bodhi and Jyn took a leave of absence, having been overworked by Baze and Chirrut’s persistent absence. With the bao shop closed momentarily, Baze took the opportunity to pick up some supplies in the Ersos’ pharmacy and then some food from the market. 

“Apologies, Master Malbus, but we don’t have any chav tea presently,” the shopkeeper said, returning with a regretful frown. He was an old man with full head of white, tied up to a polished knot over his head, and a wispy beard. He was not a familiar face to Baze but he seemed to know his way around the tea shop, and that was enough to satisfy him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Can you recommend any substitutes?” Baze asked, scanning the rows of boxes behind the counter for anything that might strike his attention. 

“What do you need the chav tea for?” 

“I have a friend who I suspect is feeling a little anemic this late.”

The old man made a long hum, looking up and stroking his beard. For all that his skin was mottled, his eyes were sharp. “I may have something. I’ll be right back.” He shuffled off to the back again. 

To Baze’s surprise, he’d returned with a round jar, made of clay, that smelled a little funny. “That’s not tea,” Baze observed, matching the flask’s height to inspect its polished stomach closely. 

“Well-noted; it’s not,” the old man replied. “It’s wine—made from tarine.”

Baze screwed up his face. 

If it worked, though, then it worked, and Baze was willing to work with that. He paid for the jar and hurried on home, keeping it as far away from his nose as possible. He hated tarine tea—hated the smell of it that seemed to pierce his nose, hated its bitter taste and the texture which always made him feel like he just licked a carpet, or a furry cat. 

For the rest of the day, Baze did nothing but to wait for Chirrut to wake up. And when he did late that afternoon, he was instantly at his side, with tea to refresh him and a bowl of porridge, made with bits of ginger and chicken and chives to sustain him. 

“Mmm, I think I shall forever be sick,” Chirrut teased as Baze set aside his finished dinner, picking up the cup of tarine wine next, mixed with hot water to improve it. He could sit up finally, his back supported by pillows. “If it means being spoon fed and spoiled to an inch of my life, I’ll give up martial arts and verses happily.”

“You still have to pay up your balance,” Baze reminded him, shifting closer to his patient. “Don’t worry—when you get better, room service will be at a discount.”

“I’m sure we can negotiate.”

“When you get better,” Baze insisted, raising the cup of wine to his lips, close enough for Chirrut to know where to hold and guide it. “For now, drink this. All the way down so you don’t taste it.”

“Did you oversteep the tea again?” Chirrut laughed. “Very well.” Carefully then, he brought the wine to his lips, and drank. But perhaps it had been too hot, or too rancid. 

Otherwise, he would not have gagged and shoved the cup in a rage from his face, dashing it on the wall. Dark liquid spattered on its otherwise pristine surface. Baze took a second to take this all in, staring in aghast then turning wild eyes to Chirrut who heaved his breath, as if he’d awoken from a nightmare. Baze choked, “Ch…Ch, Chirrut…?!”

“What was that?” Chirrut hissed, face twisting tightly. 

“That was tarine wine,” Baze answered, staring hard. “For your blood. The tea shop had run out of chav so the old man recommended tarine wine—”

“Old man—?!” Chirrut snarled but writhed suddenly, frame turning rigid as if poison was coursing through his spine and his muscles. His mouth fell wide open, like a precursor to a scream but it withered to nothing but a sick man’s groan when he crumpled and folded forward, arm across his tummy, one hand crushing the sheets. Baze panicked and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Turn away,” he growled. 

“What?” Baze sputtered, shocked. 

“ _Turn away!_ ” It came as a roar this time, with an arm swatting him off, missing him completely. There was no gracefulness in him, no more lightning sharp accuracy. All there was to him was pain and searing pain, which doubled him over, and made him cry and whimper to no relief. 

Baze would not have turned away if not for the mist that suddenly filled his vision, glowing strangely in a kind of blue and smelling a little of fresh water, like a lake, and Chirrut, although he couldn’t explain it. He shielded his eyes, waiting…waiting, just waiting. He didn’t know what for. 

It was the silence that made him open his eyes finally, and the reminder of what his house smelled like. Of food and tea and whatever the wind brought from the stream. Baze turned back to Chirrut. 

But he was gone. Not a mark of his shape on the mattress or the sheets, not a thread of his exquisite robe. 

Baze’s heart pounded in his chest, making it hard to breathe. “Chirrut?!” he cried, grabbing his blanket and tearing it free to search for him. And then, he screamed. Chirrut was gone. 

And in his place was a snake—a white snake, long and thick-bodied, coiled perfectly where Chirrut should have been. A trail of gauzy fabric had been caught in its twisted length, something that looked suspiciously like Chirrut’s bandages. 

Comprehension struck Baze like an ax; the tarine wine had turned Chirrut to a snake—that same snake he had found and rescued by the lake a season ago! Chirrut was not human—he was a snake! 

He was on his feet before he could catch himself, frightened of this being he had welcomed to his own home. Chirrut was not a human, he may as well be a monster! That same thought filled his head as he raced down the courtyard, and found a rock as big as his fist. 

Baze returned hastily to the snake, pulling the rock up over his shoulder. He only had one chance to do this—he must kill him with one strike to the head before he woke up! 

And that was when he faltered, when he heard his intentions in his head, shocking him. His strength quailed; he stumbled back, moving like a drunk, letting the rock fall from his grasp. How could he have thought of that, after all this time? Chirrut was defenseless—but that was not it. This was Chirrut— _his_ Chirrut! The same man who had saved his life, the same man who had cared for him when he was sick, the same man…he had fallen for, and would have given everything to spend his forever with. And still would, in spite of what he’d done and what he’d been about to do. That he was a snake did frighten him, but he was Chirrut, and still was no matter which form he took. 

Baze collapsed to his knees, brought his hands to his face and wept. What had he done, he thought in his despair. What had he done?

—

He didn’t know how it had happened—only that there was a stirring in his bed, and then a gentle hand on his shoulder. Baze shot awake, having fallen asleep on his knees beside Chirrut while he was praying to the gods for forgiveness, and when he looked, he saw that he was back—Chirrut Imwe, with his silvery robe and his token smile.

“I’m sorry,” Chirrut said, as tenderly as he had been brutal earlier. “Did I wake you up?” 

When he rose to touch his face, though, Baze flinched and looked away. He waited for Chirrut to say something, but there was nothing but silence from him. “Don’t look at me,” he said. 

Chirrut chuckled, “Silly, I’m blind. I can’t—” 

“You _know_ what I mean,” Baze snapped, facing him again with a frown. Chirrut was still smiling, or at least he was trying to. Baze was right, then—Chirrut knew what he meant. “I know everything now,” Baze revealed. 

Now the smile fell from Chirrut’s face, and his head fell in something that could only be remorse. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Perhaps that should have been,” Baze agreed, “but even if you have, I cannot say I can be the master of my thoughts. Not anymore.” In truth, there was nothing that compelled Baze to come out clean with his actions, even when Chirrut furrowed his brows at him, but his sense of morality—which he thought was shot now, anyway—demanded it. He had failed Chirrut and tried to kill him, all because he’d been scared. The least he could do was to be completely truthful to him. 

“Y, you see…” Baze began, swallowing a planet. “I, I…had almost tried to kill you. With a rock. I’d been scared of what I’d seen that I failed to be rational until the last minute, and after all that you’ve done for me! And all that we’ve done together. So you see,” he shook his head, watching Chirrut’s empty expression, “I don’t deserve to be looked at by you. I don’t deserve _you_. The teachings of the sages are true—men _are_ wicked! How could I ask you to love someone like me?” 

“Oh?” Chirrut began, and to Baze’s surprise, another smile had slithered into place. “Someone like you, who had saved me when the town wanted to kill me? Who had taken me in and fed me. And who had cared for me when I was injured.”

“And tried to kill you!” 

“But didn’t,” Chirrut reminded him, shaking his head. “You see, the teachings of the sages…are _not_ all true. Men are _not_ wicked. Your ideas, your intentions may not always be good and pure, but it is our actions that define us, not our thoughts. And that, is the true teaching of a sage. 

“And the reason I know all that,” Chirrut continued, “is because I have lived among the greatest of them, both here in the world and in heaven. You see, I am not just a simple snake—I am a snake spirit.” A snake spirit—

“You’re a heavenly fairy,” Baze gasped with electrifying realization. 

“I have lived among you for centuries, and even meddled with your affairs,” Chirrut added, grinning. “But…one time, I overstepped my boundaries, and caused harm to a mortal. And for that, I was punished, and became blind. I sought to escape my prison, and that is how I came to this town.”

“So is that why your eyes have been closed since?” Baze asked, suddenly full of concern. “Because you cannot open them?” 

Chirrut’s smile changed slightly. Now it was painted with hesitation. “I can open my eyes,” he said, “but…they might scare you.”

“I have already seen a snake in my bed. What else would scare me?”

Chirrut smiled a little wider at his lighthearted response—and then slowly, finally, he began to open his eyes, to Baze’s surprise.

That was when he knew what he meant;Chirrut’s pupils were practically gone, his dark orbs replaced with a bluish hue instead, and very cloudy. Not normal at all. Baze had seen the eyes of those suffering from severe cataract, but none of them ever looked like this. 

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching to touch Chirrut’s cheek, his thumb stroking the bone just under an eye. Chirrut leaned towards his palm. “Does it hurt?” he had to ask. 

Chirrut shook his head. “Not when guan ren touches it like this,” he assured him. 

Guan ren. _Husband_. Baze felt a delightful shudder shoot up his spine, and when Chirrut grinned, he too could not stop himself from smiling. This time, finally, they could feel nothing but joy.

—

A few days later, Chirrut’s body had finally healed itself completely, and he could finally stand again.

There couldn’t be a better time, he’d said—it was Bodhi’s birthday, and they had planned to surprise him. Jyn had been tasked to distract the birthday boy while Cassian volunteered to pick up a nice robe for him to wear for his imperial exam, when it did finally come. And also to keep his droid from spoiling anything. 

As for Baze and Chirrut, they took care of the menu—there would be noodles, fish, dumplings and longevity buns. Each of them carried a basket full to the brim with spoils from the market, walking home side by side, laughing at a joke that Baze had shared. 

This was how the old man had caught them when he beckoned to them with a cheerful greeting of his own, raising his staff as a wave of sorts. “Master Ang,” Baze called back, paying him with a salute which Chirrut had followed. “What a surprise to catch you here outside the orphanage.”

“It’s a lovely day to walk, is it not?” Master Ang said, looking first at Baze, and then at Chirrut who smiled at the attention. This time Baze no longer wondered how he could comprehend this in spite of his closed eyes. “It is good to see you out here, as well.”

“Master Ang, I never got to introduce you both the last time,” Baze suddenly remembered, waving his hand to Chirrut who bowed at the introduction. “This is Chirrut Imwe. He was the friend I had mentioned the last time we were in the orphanage.”

“It’s a pleasure to have finally met you, Master,” Chirrut greeted respectfully. “Baze has told me much about you.” 

“The pleasure is mine,” Master Ang returned with equal manners. “And you are, how do you say this…friends?” He looked first at Chirrut, and then at Baze who turned to Chirrut who turned to him, smiling brightly.

Baze faced the older man, smiling slightly and shyly. “We’re working on it,” was all he said. When Master Ang guffawed, though, he couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased. 

“I shall leave you both to it, then,” Master Ang said, raising his hands to each of them in salutation. “Master Malbus, Master Imwe. May the Force of others be with you.”

“May the Force of others be with you, as well,” Chirrut replied. 

They parted then, each returning to their own merry way and their own thoughts. Baze, for his part, was already laying out his kitchen with the ingredients of the first dish to be prepared in his head. 

“Guan ren.”

“Lao gong?” Baze turned to the man beside him. 

Chirrut was grinning as he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I just wanted to call you that.”

Warmth flushed up to Baze’s cheeks, spilling to his ears, and he felt his heart beat just a little faster. But the joy was just too much for him to contain that he had to seize Chirrut’s free hand to grasp it. Just because he could. Chirrut's grin brightened. Like a child, he swung their hands together, making Baze laugh. 

They were inseparable from then on—walking home hand in hand, like a glimpse of their shared future.


	2. Lao Gong

For a being who was devoted to, and of the Force, Chirrut Imwe couldn’t say which part of his and its joint existence was his favorite. Certainly, it was being at the heart of it—where he could feel the Force change, ebbing and flowing with those it connected and were connected to it. But sometimes, he thought he loved it best during the early morning hours, when the Force, which was so soft and smooth like silk, would thrum with just the slightest breath to match the quiet songs of the trilling birds, rousing from their sleep. Where the hush of the night offered one peace, the calming silence could not quite be an equal match to the serenity of a quiet world waking up, aglow with the first light of the sun. 

But then he could not say that he loved it better over the buzz of the Force, its jumps and flights, its brilliance and pulsating energy as the people of his most beloved town of NiJedha, the Holy Town, arose to welcome another day. For where else could he feel the fullness of his spirit and its delight when the mortals congregated among food and friends? Or the electric rush of activity and excitement when they went out and mingled, worked, seemingly fueling the town’s very machinations as it feeds into the Force. 

The first time he sensed this burst of life, he could not resist coming down from heaven to be at the center of it all, the eye of the whirlwind of the living Force. That was also the first time he had taken on the physical appearance of a snake, a white one because such was his nature—a pure connection to the Force. Both light and dark; white—the presence of all colors. 

From corner to corner, he slithered, lingering for conversations, songs, lessons, sweet moments of a mother teasing her child, weary miners stopping to play with and feed a cat. An entire day would breeze by, full of snapshots of mortal life in NiJedha, the Force ringing at every moment, every sight and sound, until slowly the pace would ease, and the Force itself would take up a calmer, almost sweeter tune as the sun set. And then evening would unfold, and the townsfolk would, full of relief and contentment, put up their feet and call it a day. 

He would be back up in heaven to watch all this. And the sparkling stars, brilliant but never too bright. And if he were lucky, the pure pale glow of a full moon, embalming the Holy Town in its gentle light. Chirrut would again remember the meaning of bliss and peace from the quiet, soothing Force, and he would again think that this was the true essence of the Force. The Force in its most beautiful. Then morning would come, the sun would rise, and he would be caught up in the moments and motions again. 

Decades and centuries would pass him in this manner, but Chirrut was not the least bit displeased. He did not want for more, and if anything, he was wholly satisfied to keep going like this. In the daylight, he would always be among the people and their lives, a secret observer and witness to their ups and downs. And at night, he would return to heaven as a fairy, sighing blissfully at the sleepy planet and all that he experienced. 

It was the natural progression of things, then, that the snake spirit should think about communicating with the people, so he did. It was nothing so ambitious, though. Just tiny little appearances that, if anything, served only to amuse him and frighten those who’d see him. In many occasions, this was purely the game that he played. 

But others presented him more opportunities to participate in the lives of his beloved townsfolk—such as when a woman refused to admit her feelings for her admirer, and he came out to terrorize her so she would jump to her admirer’s arms and her admirer would chase Chirrut away with a stick. And he did back down, though not out of fear. But it was the perfect way to highlight the admirer’s virtues and courage, thereby sealing their romance in a sweet ending. Or that time he stole a woman’s chicken (and ended up laming it, purely out of necessity) so he could lead her to the half-drowned boy he had saved but could not resuscitate. His elders and fellows had warned him against meddling with the affairs of mortals (as if they didn’t give various excuses for doing it themselves), but Chirrut could not stop himself, and he would not. Not when the most sensible thing to do was to help, especially if he were in the far side of the town which saw little attention from its people. 

The lake was one such example—his most favorite place in NiJedha. He was fond of it for being so close to both the land and the water, and the cool breeze that blew landwards, brushing past the lush trees that stood guard around the lip. Surrounded by so many elements, it gave him a keen sense of the Force at work which sated him immensely.

That…and well, something else. One that came in the shape of a man with two baskets hanging over a pole on his shoulder as he proclaimed, “Fresh bao! Three credits for one, seven credits for three. Get your fresh bao here!” He had only come about recently, about thirty years ago, although Chirrut wagered he had seen this man somewhere before, when he was younger. Likely in some respectable tea houses or in other shops, hand held constantly by his mother. But what stood out to him was not how much he’d changed over the years or how little—depending on how one saw it. The ears for instance remained the same—but how deep his voice was, and how it was so bold and whole such that it was distinctive—loud, yes—but never frightening and upsetting. 

The first time Chirrut heard it, it sent a tremor down his spine. The next, he felt his heart fluttering at its rich quality. It was a voice that was both beautiful and handsome. The voice of a man he could trust with his life, and one that he didn’t mind hearing every day, no matter that it said nothing more than, “Fresh bao! Get your fresh bao here.” If it claimed that he had fresh bao, then Chirrut believed it. If it said that one bao was worth three credits and three pieces were worth seven, then he would stake his life on it. Some people considered the sunrise as one of life’s daily miracles but for the snake spirit, it was this—this sonorous voice, this man who could charm him away from his meditation as he so often did. Every day, he looked forward to crossing his path, like a ritual, just to hear his voice. 

Until that day—that fateful day. When he caught a man grabbing at a woman who clearly wanted nothing more to do with him. Chirrut came in urgently to scare the man away but the man only kicked him back and 's snatched the woman by her wrist. She let out a great cry, painting the Force red and black with her pain and her fright. That was when Chirrut dropped all cautions, and lunged to bite the man.

—

He would never have expected that he would one day enter the Heavenly Court in this manner—on his knees, dragged in by the arms through the majestic scarlet doors flung wide open, his fine robe, wrought as if from starlight, scraping at the floor. The room was as tall as it was long, flanked on both sides by tapestries, scrolls, witnesses and guards all imbued by the great Force, watching him with stoic and regal curiosity. And at the end of it, of course, was judge and jury.

Chirrut landed on his hands when his escorts had brought him to his fate, standing on either side of him in the event that he might try his luck and escape, but he didn’t, and wouldn’t. He had too much respect for the natural order of the Force to even try, and perhaps it was also a matter of pride for him. To dust his hands, to pick himself up although he was on his knees squaring his shoulders and raising his chin to the old man standing in elegant robes at the judge’s place, calling the room to order with three strikes of his great staff on the floor. Silence answered the last echo of his command. 

“Chirrut Imwe,” he began with a grave voice, looking upon the man on his knees, meeting him in the eye without flinching. “You are brought here before the court, with heaven as your witness, for your crimes committed against the mortal world. Using your Force-gifted, and freely given magic, you have intimidated, tricked, robbed, and caused harm to the common folks of Jedha. How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Chirrut responded without missing a beat, to the courtroom’s great surprise, spurring them to gasp and whisper, some shaking their heads and pointing. 

Order came again after three strikes of the authoritative staff, the judge standing, seemingly impervious to the defendant’s impudence. Beside him, one to each his side, were two women, both swathed in crimson robes, one of them fidgeting nervously while the other stood as serenely as an observer, her face hidden behind a vocoder mask. Chirrut wished he could reassure the uneasy one, perhaps with wise words about how everything was the will of the Force—but if those words didn’t work to ease his heart ramming in his chest, or his agitated nerves, he doubted it would have a different effect on her. 

“Chirrut Imwe,” the judge spoke again with a voice weighed by gravity, “this is not the time to be joking around.”

“Is that not why I spoke the truth, Venerable Angber Trel?” Chirrut responded. Despite his present circumstances, it was difficult for him not to smile, even just a little. “I have intimidated these mortals to save them from harm, I have tricked them so that they may overcome their fears and find their strength and courage within. I have stolen to save the lives of the desperate and I have caused harm to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Is this not all that you accused me of?”

Angber Trel’s staff crashed on the floor again, marking the end of the criminal’s testimony. “You have abused your powers over these unknowing mortals yet still, you refuse to apologize!” he snapped, waving a fierce finger at the accused. “We, heavenly fairies, must each act according to a higher sense of morality for it is we who are imbued with the true powers of the Force!” 

“But what sense is there to protect oneself and one’s sense of morality if this will leave others to be harmed?” Chirrut argued, shaking his head. “One must never put oneself above the needs of the others. Such is the teaching of the sages! If I cannot use my powers to help others, then I may as well not have it.”

These were words unheard of in the realm of the heavenly fairies—until now. If Chirrut were only doing this for the shock and the attention, then he thought he had surpassed his goal unquestionably, for his words had caused such a stir in the courtroom, going far beyond the usual murmurs and accusatory fingers. He heard voices that cried, some made angry by what they perceived was arrogance and disgratitude on his part. “Once a snake, always a snake!” he heard someone growl, which only made him raise his chin a little higher. For what then if he _was_ a snake spirit? Even the mischievous should be allowed to have their redeeming qualities. 

A fact which seemed to have stunned Angber Trel himself, stumbling back with the weight of his surprise. He stared wide-eyed at Chirrut’s audacity, unable to put the agitated courtroom to rest. His two female companions exchanged urgent glances, kept apart by their own fear and anxieties. Looking at them, Chirrut realized he’s really done it, this time. 

“Fine!” Angber Trel cried, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “If it is your wish to be removed of your magic, then let it be so.” He raised his staff, its aged wood suddenly glowing with a cool aura. Everyone cried again. 

“Elder, stop!!” one of the women howled, flying to her knees in front of him so she could be a barrier between Chirrut and his punishment. She raised her praying hands so that he may reconsider, while Chirrut, in his alarm, almost kicked himself back up to his feet to stop her. Instead, he could only snarl her name through his teeth—“Killi Gimm!”—but the woman was beyond reason. She had always been more headstrong than him. 

“It is true that Chirrut Imwe had acted and spoken more brazenly than is expected of his station,” for he was not a god or a goddess, not even someone who was their favored assistant—just a snake spirit who happened to have enough magic to be a heavenly fairy, “but if you must punish him, I beg you to do it only to teach him a lesson!” Killi said. “Give him a chance to learn and to grow, and to prove himself worthy of the Force’s graces.”

With words like that, of course Angber Trel would put down his staff. Of course Chirrut would find himself breathing with relief, and so too did the others. Chirrut sensed the Force flowing freely among them again, if like a swift river, never steady. Like a man pacing for news. 

“Killi Gimm,” Angber Trel sighed at his most favored disciple. “You have always had a heart worthy of the Goddess of Mercy’s blessings.” After a moment, he nodded. “Very well. I will heed your request as I see it is wise.” Killi started to thank him just then as the woman with the vocoder mask hurried to remove her from further accidents. 

Once again, the elder fairy regarded the accused, and Chirrut held his breath. “Chirrut Imwe,” he began, “because you looked favorably upon the people of the Holy Town NiJedha, you have caused yourself to meddle with their affairs, and in so doing, committed your crimes. For it is true what is said—temptation starts at what the eyes perceive. This is the teaching of the sages.” He aimed his staff at the snake again. “And because it is through the eyes that you have sinned, let it also be through the eyes that you will learn.”

Chirrut only learned of his meaning when it was already too late. He jumped up suddenly, opening his mouth to beg for another punishment but his supplication never quite made it out. He stopped when he felt there was sand in his eyes, and when he tried to clear them, they only grew worse as if from his efforts. He felt a growing pressure at the back of his head as the sand began to fill it, to a point where he could no longer open his eyes or relieve himself with his tears. And when his eyes had dried out, they began to sting. And burn.

When Chirrut opened his mouth again, it was only so he could let out a cry as he fell forward on his knees, pressing his hands to his ruined eyes both in desperation and in regret.

—

Angber Trel’s pale face was the last thing he could remember. Everything else passed in a blur, if that was still a word he could use.

After the trial, he was taken again by the arms and half-dragged to his present location, not to punish him but because the pain and his devastation had turned his legs to water and he could not walk for too long. Even when the door had been shut and locked, he could not bring himself to slam his fist on it and beg for release. Only to curl up in the middle of the cold floor to cry in the darkness. 

He was in an earthen prison, and that was all he could tell from how the place smelled, how the Force flowed beneath and around him, ever-present and strong but not…fluid. He laid with his knees in his arms for as long as he could remember, not bothering yet to explore his new confines, figuring he had all of eternity to do just that. 

But he had not expected the door to open, and the rustle of robes fluttering in as a pair of visitors slipped in. Chirrut roused himself suddenly, throwing his eyes around blindly in urgency before he found himself locking onto two vessels brimming with the Force. One of them reminded him of the softness of scarlet silk, and the comfort of being wrapped and warm in them. The other was like colorful music painting the skies, giving him comfort. 

He opened his arms, and the first visitor was there in an instant, holding him tight as he embraced her tightly in turn. “Killi Gimm,” he sighed in relief. 

“Chirrut, I’m sorry,” the woman gasped. She was crying. “I wish I could have prevented this from happening!” 

“Hush, my friend,” Chirrut said, and of course it would be the need to comfort that would bring a smile to his face as his hand alighted on hers to wipe her tears. “The Force is still with me, and I am still with the Force. If it had not been for your courage, perhaps I would have nothing now.”

“But your eyes…!”

Chirrut’s smile arched with the pain of his loss. “A worthy payment for my sacrifice,” he said with empty feeling. “Tell me, what do they look like now?” 

Killi paused briefly. “Like the Force but in a cloudy day.” They laughed suddenly, although it was short-lived and hollow. 

Looking up, Chirrut searched for that music again which seemed to paint rainbows in his unseeing eyes. “Silvanie Phest,” he began. “Men are cruel, the teachings of the sages are true. You have warned me this when I had begun to visit NiJedha in regularity, but I thought you’d meant the townsfolk themselves and didn’t believe you. Now, I wish I had, having learned my lesson. Forgive me, wiser sister. I was wrong and ignorant.”

“Now is not the time for such supplications,” Silvanie Phest sighed, her vocoder mask translating her subvocal harmonics into what seemed like the most beautiful song Chirrut had heard. He was still sad, though in spite of it. “What you did to the mortal was bad, no matter how you put it. A higher being must never attack a lower being, in the same way that one of a higher station must never abuse the one beneath them with their powers. But it cannot be said that what you did was wrong—using your powers to defend the weak, even at your great expense, will never not be a virtue.”

“Unfortunately, my judge and jury was not the Goddess of Mercy,” Chirrut said, smiling without mirth and laughing without humor. “My judge and jury was a venerable elder who must uphold the texts that structured our way of life. Even the Goddess of Mercy cannot deny that what he did was right.”

“Yes,” Silvanie agreed. “But that does not mean she agrees with it.”

Chirrut’s brows fell, his lips parted by his confusion. He looked to the woman in his arms, or tried to. And she gripped his sleeves in turn, as she began to speak urgently. 

“I requested to the Goddess of Mercy to let me help you, and she gave me leave. Silvanie and I are here to break you out.”

“What!” Chirrut gasped, staring wide-eyed at Silvanie’s direction. 

“Not in the way that you think,” Silvanie corrected him. “Killi and I agreed that the prison is no place for you, and that you would sooner try to escape without our help, anyway. Still, it isn’t like us to stand around, doing nothing. Heaven helps those who help themselves. This is what the sages teach us.”

“Go down to NiJedha, you’ll be safe there. Just avoid the hills,” Killi continued, stealing his attention back again. “If you truly believe in your actions, if we must show the elder that you are worthy of forgiveness, then this is the place to start.”

“But without my eyes, I won’t last long. I can’t see!” 

“What you cannot see with your eyes,” Killi stopped him, putting her hand on his chest, “you will see with your heart.” She embraced him again, and after that, there didn’t seem much else for Chirrut to do but to hug her back, more fiercely. “May the Force of others be with you, Chirrut Imwe.”

“And you,” Chirrut replied. When he raised his hand to Silvanie, though, she rejected it in urgency. 

“We don’t have much time,” Silvanie said. “Find the Force, and let it guide you where you need to go.”

“I will.”

He tried to stand on his feet, but even with Killi’s help, he found that his knees were too weak to hold him up. The magic and his blindness had done much to sap him of his strength and his powers, but Chirrut had never let his physical limitations restrict him. Why should he start now? Calling to the Force, and with the last of his magic, he shifted back into his snake form, where he would be lighter, smaller and swifter, too. The guards would doubtless be on the lookout for this trickery. 

But none of them would be small enough to fit through the cracks between the walls.

—

It was a long way down from heaven, a trip he had practically mastered from all his visits to the Holy Town but being blind and weak made the journey strange and more difficult that when he had finally reached his sanctuary, there was nothing more he could do but to coil up and sleep. The smell of the earth, the sounds of the water and the weight of the leaves around him gave him a much needed comfort after what he’d been put through.

Albeit one that was fragile, broken by the cry of a voice, and then the gasp of another and another. More and more of them crowded over him, the Force thick with their heat and their weight, the tension that seemed to bind them all together with one, tight wire. 

“A snake,” someone cried. “It’s a snake!!” 

“Where do you think it came from?” someone else gasped. 

“This is no good,” another one screeched. “Surely, this means bad luck!!”

Chirrut couldn’t agree more, but he was too tired to move, even to hide himself from those who found him. 

“If it’s bad luck, then there’s no sense keeping it alive,” a voice, strong and resolute, in such a way that drew even the Force towards it, said. It sounded like there was a mask filtering its speech, and Chirrut wished more than ever that he had Silvanie at his side. Especially when his vision seemed to darken still, as if the shifting Force was donning this individual with a shadowy veil, meant perhaps for death. “Stand back.” The spectators answered with a gasp. 

“Wait!!” 

Silence all over. The Force itself seemed to still briefly before it expanded into a new form. Something that strangely reminded him of a sentinel, a hero coming through the shadows. There was a largeness about him, and a strong beating heart that invigorated the very Force. Chirrut felt his own heart racing suddenly—and that had told him who it was. 

It was the bao maker, who’d come to tell his beloved townsfolk, “You can’t just do that, the snake has done no harm!”

“It’s bad luck!” someone argued in a thin voice. 

“But it’s defenseless,” the bao maker persisted. His voice was so deep that it seemed to reach Chirrut no matter how far he sunk into exhaustion and blissful sleep. “It’s asleep, besides. You cannot attack a helpless creature, snake or no snake,” he continued. “This is against the teachings of the Force.” That sent a pleasant shiver down Chirrut’s spine. 

“So what do you propose to do? We can’t just leave it out lying here.” A different voice. There was a momentary pause after. 

“I will take it,” the bao maker said suddenly, much to the crowd’s gasping and his, if Chirrut had been in any position to express it. “I am almost done with my work. I can put it in my basket and I will carry it far from the town, where it won’t find us.” Not a plan that Chirrut encouraged at his current state—he was blind!—but one he had to agree was more preferable to certain (and maybe even slow, him being a snake spirit and all) death. He’ll just have to find his way back to safety after he’d been removed from his temporary sanctuary, and he’ll just have to have faith on the bao maker with the handsome voice—a test the Force surely was fond of. 

“I’ll help you,” the filtered voice from earlier jumped in, and he felt their fingers taking his mass carefully, moving slowly as if he was a fragile thing that might break. Chirrut let them, trying to stay as limpid as a sleeping snake (which wasn’t so difficult given how weary he was but the tension of the day had never really allowed him to relax yet) as they transferred him from the soil to a slightly hollow place where he landed among soft and warm rolls, smelling of garlic, chives, sesame, the sweetness of mung bean and the sugar in dough…it was a confusing mixture but one so fragrant, Chirrut didn’t mind at all. It reminded him of men and women gathered around a table as they talked, laughed and raised their cups, the sizzle of oil on woks, the grease that seemed to permeate the Force itself. And that was enough to calm his nerves even for a little. 

They moved soon after. The Force felt cool suddenly when they broke away from the cluster, but not so much that left Chirrut shuddering and longing for the connection to the water, the damp earth which was still near him. This man, this bao maker, was so warm, he may as well be a hearth on legs, even when he felt like a rock, silent, solid and still. And he felt bright, too—golden like a torch in the night, or the sunrise. In his secret space, Chirrut shifted closer to him, breathing more easily. 

In time, they reached the end of the road which, to Chirrut’s delight, still felt connected to the lake and its greenery, the easy flow of the Force. 

“Here you go,” the bao maker said, tipping him over so that he could more easily slip out of the basket, towards the cover of the natural Force which seemed to stand over him like a pole, just in time for the distant boom in the sky, which made him shudder. It sounded like heaven had finally found out about his escape. The bao maker’s feet shifted on the earth—it was time for him to go—but he stopped suddenly, as if forgetting something. 

After a quick moment of indecision, Chirrut heard and smelled him emptying the contents of his basket to surround him, something that confused him at first until he smelled again the rich fillings and their spices. He felt sorry that the bao maker had considered them spoilt, had sacrificed his sales in order to rescue him, but he decided he would remember him. 

“You might just be a plain snake,” the bao maker said to him, “but if you are what they say you are, then please accept my offerings as a token of peace. These are good people, they’re hard workers. I pray that you will spare them from misfortune, as I have saved you from harm.”

Another pleasant shiver shot through him, filling him with warmth. Who was this man whose heart was as big as heaven! Chirrut wished he could smile, as his own spirit was, but he had a cover to put up. When the bao maker finally left, he sent out a prayer on his way, that the Force of others be with him. 

Under the cover of the rain, and the thick leaves that sheltered him, Chirrut finally fell completely asleep.

—

Even though he could no longer see, Chirrut knew it was still dark when he awoke finally. The Force had that feeling that was like still waters, and the wind was cool besides when it blew gently and the world was quiet, smelling like fresh rain. There was literally a world of difference between his present circumstances and the one he’d just escaped from. For instance, he felt much better now.

And hungrier—a fact that only occurred to him after he’d picked up the scent of his savior’s baos which still walled him in. From what he could tell, they hadn’t gone bad yet. Not too bad, at least—although it had rained and they’d been sitting on the dirt all through the night and maybe he was just desperate for nourishment. But in any case, he was a snake spirit, and not a real snake or even someone human whose digestion, he knew, suffered easily depending on the contents of their food. Wasting food, and one that was given out of the charity of one’s heart, was a worse crime under heaven. This what the sages taught them. 

Chirrut needed little more convincing before he rose slightly and clamped his fangs onto his first bun. The dough was a little too tough now, having been chilled by the wind and rain but he wasn’t complaining. He swallowed it hungrily as he would if it had been a live animal, shoving it further down his gullet with one more bun and then another. The tang of the wet earth did not mingle very well with the bun’s sweet bread but that was not a problem for him. 

One by one, he consumed the bao maker’s offerings and little by little, his food diminished, but he only ate faster, leaving nothing for the other creatures of the lake to take be it pork and egg or lotus seed. In his mind, Chirrut imagined the Force of every bun he ate bursting outwards to sustain him, laced with the bao maker’s love for his cooking and the people, and his generous heart. He wondered where he lived—he was indebted to him and felt compelled by his gratitude to pay him back for his actions but Chirrut had to find him first. 

At the very least, he knew how to start. He knew, for instance, that no one liked a talking snake—at least no one down in NiJedha. And though the bao maker displayed an openness of heart and mind, Chirrut figured he probably shouldn’t keep trying him. He had to come to him as a friend. Someone harmless. 

A human, then, he decided as he loosened himself, breathed in deeply. A fellow human, a sentient who shared his species. So it was that his thought became a spell, drawing the living Force to and around him to make his vision flesh. He would not have had the power to do this had he not rested, and had it not been for the baos which fed him. 

But soon he would be standing on two feet, dusting his robe, pulling slightly at his crossed collar, straightening it up a little. He had to look presentable, like a respectable gentleman. It was just too bad he couldn’t see himself for himself, but he stopped himself before he could let his sudden blindness get the better of him. He may no longer be able to see, but he was still alive, he was well, and he was not so completely helpless. The Force was with him, and he was with the Force. Even now, as a human, he could feel it flowing around him, connecting all parts of him to the greater world which seemed to breathe like a living animal, but quietly, and in a way that was reassuring. From that alone, he knew that a bright morning had come. 

It was time to get moving then, he thought, as he reached for a branch of the uneti tree which protected him in the night, and snapped it off with one hand. If he were to start looking for his protector, then he needed a walking stick to guide him first, he thought—one for which the branch would be perfect for…albeit a bit too short. And thin and oddly shaped to be of proper use, but nothing that Chirrut could not fix with a little touch of his magic. To stretch it a little, give it a bit of a grip, some substance. The uneti plant was well-loved by the Force for being so rich in it, and so obedient as the legends tell. 

Soon enough, he was on his way, following the draw of waking NiJedha to point him where the main town lied. Chirrut had been heartened by the fact that though he could no longer see with his two eyes, which he decided then to keep closed so as not to alarm anyone, everything still felt the same. The Force was alive, full and flowing freely which made him feel light on his mood and his feet. 

But with everyone distracted by their own preoccupations, it was difficult to get anyone’s attention. Much less to actually answer him when he asked them, “Do you know where the bao maker lives?” Most would just…disappear (he could only imagine and hope that they were shaking their heads or waving their hands), and those who did try to be helpful pointed him to the wrong direction, for the obvious reason that there were more than one bao maker in NiJedha. Chirrut was at a loss; he had no other leads and even when he tried asking about the bao maker who peddled by the lake or the bao maker who had a handsome voice, no one could supply him with the answer that he needed. 

He needed a different plan, then. And it came to him when he returned to his beloved lake and sat down on a piece of rock to rest and think. If he couldn’t come to the man, then why not let the man come to him! Chirrut had observed his activities for as long as he could remember that it would be impossible even for a blind man to miss him if he followed it. He could meet him right there, where he sat, he realized. He would wait for him to appear! 

And he would make sure he found him by drawing his attention, with a chant that went, “May the Force of others be with you! May the Force of others be with you.” For what else was a heavenly fairy who was blind and pretty much a fugitive supposed to do, after all? 

That was how he spent his first day in NiJedha, then, with vague questions, generous blessings and dubious results. As the day passed, and the wind picked up slightly, as it so often would whenever the sun would start to set, he began to wonder if there was any point in his plan, at all. Of his Faith to the Force, there was no question but perhaps he thought his method needed a little improvement. 

That was, until he caught him. Just standing right there, almost within reach. He was like a great mass that drew everything to him that Chirrut couldn’t believe how he’d almost missed him—this hugeness, this kind man whose simple presence was enough to set his heart jumping like a giddy child. Finally, he’d found him again! And after all that waiting. Now he had to say hello. 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare, then?”

Nailed it. 

When the bao maker refused to speak, he went on to tell him, “Yes, you. I’m speaking to you!” He smiled. “Would you like me to tell you your fortune?” 

What once felt soft and friendly suddenly tensed up, like an animal raising its defenses against some unknown predator. The bao maker made a disgruntled noise, not exactly a response Chirrut expected of him but that only made him smile more. “Does it say you’ll buy some bao from me?” he asked. 

“I would if I had any money on me,” he answered in a beat. 

“You have a handsome robe but no money? Why don’t you sell your clothes, then?” He meant his skin, of course. The product of himself, the Force and his magic. 

“If I sold my clothes, I wouldn’t have anything to wear, then,” Chirrut replied, brows curling as he tilted his head to one side, thinking.“And I am not sure the people would appreciate that.” He did, after all, go through the effort of concealing his true nature. 

Whatever the case, it was enough to loosen up the man he had been searching for, and that pleased him. The tension faded, as did the shell. Even Chirrut started to breathe a little easier when he inched a little sideways as the man sat next to him on the dirt. “Do you have chicken?” he asked, leaning in, as if to inspect his goods when really, he was just drawn by the smell of food, trying to detect his order in them. Chicken was always a good choice, thought the snake. Paper crinkled briefly. 

When he received the warm bun, soft and heavy in his hands, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning with delight, even going so far as to bring it to his nose so he could smell it, before he chomped on the dough and the meat which was tender. The juice itself was rich and sweet, seasoned with ginger and chives, giving him a pleasant shudder. He never realized how hungry he was until he was eating. Truly this man and his food was a gift from the Force. 

“Never seen you around here before,” the man suddenly commented. 

“ _I’ve_ never seen _you_ before!” Chirrut replied cheerfully, which was a lie but the bao maker wasn’t supposed to know he had been a sighted snake before. He almost laughed when he felt the Force coil up around the man, and maybe even his glare on his skin, so he relented a little. “You may call me a blind traveler,” he said, raising the bun to his mouth for another bite.

“Where is your companion, then?” 

“I currently have an opening for that,” Chirrut answered, letting his brows fall together with the frown of his lips. None of what he was saying was true, of course, but that didn’t stop him. “Unfortunately, it will not be a paid job,” he continued. “I can pay in lessons but of late, I realized no one here is quite so fond of verses.”

“You will not find willing volunteers in this town,” the man advised him as he shifted in his place. “The only language we speak here is money. Everyone is either just too rich or too poor for what you offer.”

“And what are you?” Chirrut asked him, one step closer to an introduction. 

“Me?” the man said as he got up. “I used to be one but now I am the other. So I must get back to work. Safe travels then, Sir.” Or maybe not. 

But Chirrut didn’t keep him, sending him off instead with a blessing and a salute raised to his general direction. “May the Force of others be with you, Master Bao Maker.” This probably wasn’t conducive to his plan of repaying the man for his aide, but something about this meeting made Chirrut feel good. The Force was at work here, he could feel it. Until then, Chirrut would be patient. 

So he went on with his chant, finishing his food, while the bao maker went on with his own, “Fresh bao! Get your fresh bao here…”

No one else came to him after, and that was fine for him. The better to hear the bao maker’s return, for which he silenced even his own litany. It couldn’t be much longer, he thought; the day was getting colder, which told him that it was getting late. Even the Force had become a little more quiet, a little more at rest as less and less people came and stayed out. Anytime now, he thought, while he played a little tune with taps and shifts of his feet. 

Which stopped, when the colors that he saw changed, as if ink had been dropped into something clear like water. The air itself felt a little heavier, weighing down upon the Force which moved sluggishly with the pollution. This was a rare kind of darkness for him to see, and no matter how blind he was, he knew there was no way he could simply be imagining this. He turned his face downward and sideways, towards where the bao maker had disappeared, brows low with discontent. There was something wrong beyond the distance. 

He got up to investigate, sweeping and tapping the earth with his walking staff as he went. The shadows only seemed to add more layers to itself the closer he walked to it, away from comfortable silence and towards what sounded a lot like angry men shouting on and on. 

A fight! He realized it with a start, which explained the darkness in the Force and its agitated movement. Chirrut tightened his grip around his staff as he hurried still. Someone was laughing, victorious and arrogant, whose signature in the Force was black as stormy weather, thrown in stark relief by that one he faced, like shadows to a candle. 

Chirrut almost couldn’t believe who that candle was, that raging fire that the stranger faced. So this was why the bao maker was taking his time to come back, he thought. Although why a humble baker (or so he thought, for now) was being accosted by a crowd of angry men was beyond him. 

This was not exactly the kind of introduction he was thinking about, but he didn’t think twice about jumping into the fray, diving under the cover of the cries of men, slicing past their roiling masses pressing into him on both sides. Rage pushed them forward, those black clouds barreling into the bao maker’s steady but intense light in the Force but he batted them back, his uneti staff stymieing their pace and breaking their front before they could even guess what was happening, or who it was that had ruined their advantage. 

In a blink, he was through to the other side, posting himself right in front of the bao maker, his staff out towards the men who dared to attack his friend. Their cries of shock erupted a second later, as disorganized as they felt uncertain in the Force, which brought a smile to the heavenly fairy’s face. 

“Ohhh,” he swooned. “So is this how it’s done here in this town? Twenty-four against one?” That was a wild guess but a close estimate, he thought. “Arithmetic isn’t my strongest suit but…” and here, he looked back to the bao maker for effect, his smile stretching wider, putting a twinkle in his eye if he ever showed it. “We’ll _see_ how this _adds_ up.” _Get it? Get it?_ was the implied question. 

He didn’t give his friend a chance to reply, though. Facing their enemies again, their shadows shifting uneasily, he addressed them, “So, which one of you would like to go first?” Stunned silence, not even a misplaced whisper here or shuffling there. Maybe this wasn’t going to turn out the way he thought but the Force was still dark with violent thoughts. 

“He’s blind!!” was someone’s sudden capital observation, to which the gang roared in agreement. “What’s he going to do? Stumble his way into victory?” More roaring. Chirrut wanted to sigh—it wasn’t even a good joke! 

“Kind Sir,” the bao maker started to speak behind him, but by then, he had already decided to show no mercy. Not only did they threaten to break his friend’s bones, they didn’t even have the grace to come up with a witty jeer! How insulting, and disappointing besides. “Perhaps we ought to—”

“All right,” he cried, ignoring any pleas for second options. “I’ll take that as a yes!” Without another second wasted, he charged forth, whipping down his staff where it connected with something that sounded suspiciously like the head of a person. The next cracks followed with a sideways sweep of his walking stick, and that was the only time it occurred to them that they were being attacked from the inside. 

The realization erupted with another cry, deafening, maddening perhaps for someone who might not be used to such types of extreme sports but having lived for thousands of years, Chirrut Imwe had pretty much learned a special way of handling it. That he was blind was of no difficulty to him—the Force saw everything and there was nothing that could be hidden from it. No anger, no fear, no wickedness. And failing that, he still had a pair of functional ears. 

That was how Chirrut managed to cull his attackers from those who didn’t know what they were doing to those who had somewhat of an inkling about it. In just a few strikes, half the competition was down and he would have made short work of the rest whose hesitations were like a persistent buzzing in the Force. 

But what was a little bit more excitement, he thought. A little change of pace just to spice things up. Chirrut handed his stick off to a pair of feet then and thanked them for their assistance as he pushed them down the ground, then flung his arms up wildly, falling to his heels, his leg outstretched, foot pointing straight to his next target. 

He became his own nature—a snake, his hands pursed to resemble the shape of one’s head, ready to bite at anyone who might make the mistake of coming close. At the slightest noise of a foot moving in the earth, Chirrut was gone, chasing after that sound, a predator falling upon his prey to take them down. That poor fellow fell like a sack of grains upon first strike, and the rest followed him in quick successions, following an introduction to his fist or his feet or the dirt when he threw them off their feet and planted them on their faces. 

He finished the fight with his stick, twirling to expand his reach, and they finished it with their tails between their legs, running and crying for their dear mothers. Chirrut exhaled, dusting his robe and straightening himself up. “Men are wicked,” he said to no one in particular, facing the way his victims ran off to. “The teachings of the sages are true.” The air felt clear now, the bruised shadows having finally disappeared with the men although the half-frantic sounds of a flying insect still persisted. 

Which turned out to be the bao maker rushing to him suddenly on his knees, his normally low pitch hitting the roof as he cried, “Master, I am grateful! Thank you, good master, thank you!!” Chirrut noted with delight, though, that his high voice still rang beautifully. A natural-born singer! 

But this wasn’t the kind of relationship he wanted—no masters, no sirs. He turned around to face him with a frown, then with a sigh and a click of his tongue, he said, “Eiii,” and waved his finger at him, full of disapproval. “First I am a kind sir, now I am a good master? Come.” He opened his arms and lowered himself to raise the bao maker from his knees, using his ears to approximate where his elbows might be. “There is no need for such humility among friends.”

“Friends?” the bao maker asked, confused. 

“Indeed.” Chirrut grinned. “Do friends not come to one another’s need? I have come to your aid just as you have come to mine.”

“I?” he asked again, still confused and uncertain, but it all came to him after the briefest pause. “The bao,” he said in half a surprise.

“It was a good bao,” Chirrut confirmed, throwing in a compliment while he was at it. 

“It’s just chicken and ginger. And dough.”

Well, deconstructed like that, the bao maker was right—it really wasn’t much. What a truly humble man, he thought, who could not see how his meager efforts, his simple generosity had meant the world to a stranger! How he had saved him through it and reassured him of his connection to the Force. 

He looked around, trying to come up with an equal rebuttal, looking for what no longer was there. Tossing his hand, he replied, “It’s just hands and feet. And a stick.” Two could play that game. He faced the bao maker again and grinned.

And the world seemed to open up and breathe again, brightening as if a bit of sun had finally cast its rays on gray weather. He felt his heart beating. He felt the warmth of relief touching him there. “Say what you like,” the bao maker replied, “it was still help.” There it was again—the voice that he remembered. That gentle tremor, that deep timbre. 

“As was your splendid bao!” he returned brightly. 

“Then perhaps, as my friend, you might acquiesce for one more favor to be done for you?” Oh, and he was smart, too! Using Chirrut’s claim to friendship to oblige him to one more favor as repayment for his help. 

Chirrut wagged his finger at him again, clicking his tongue—but maybe he could take him up on this offer, after all. Evening must be falling, and he doubted he could spend the night under the shrubs by the lake again. 

He sighed, clasping his hands behind him. “You got me there,” he admitted, smirking in amusement. As if he could see, he looked around the emptiness, at the stillness of the Force gliding peacefully like a patient river.“What time is it?” he asked.

—

“Please make yourself at home!”

Home, as it turned out, was a large compound across the stream some ways beyond the borders of the main town. Chirrut could only imagine how wealthy it once must have been as he crossed the expansive courtyard and stood in the living room of the main house, but now all he could hear in it was emptiness. A kind of silence that could only come from hollow spaces—the bao maker’s lively actions in the kitchen across of him notwithstanding. 

Left to his own devices, he began to explore, staff end on the floor, his hand out as a warning. He started at one corner, moving carefully to the next, taking small steps to make sure he didn’t stub his toe onto some unfortunate furniture, but he realized soon after that he could have run from end to end and come through unscathed. About the only things he could find in his blindness were chairs, tables, and walls, lots of walls and partitions. 

And to his delight, a shelf of books, each spine lined up like proper soldiers, some lying atop other books. His smile escaped him as he ran his fingers over the volumes, wondering what sort of knowledge they might contain. History? Classics? Some wondrous work of science, perhaps! He wished he could read them. He wondered what they said about the Force. 

That thought flew out the window as soon as he heard the wok sizzle and caught the fragrance of the seasoning and spices wafting to him, stirring it seemed even the Force in excitement—or maybe that was just him. Garlic, pepper, chives, ginger, some soy and wine, even sesame oil. His mouth was practically slavering with the sweetness he could imagine, and then he caught the beef, and the radish and the beans and carrots and mushrooms and napa and tofu…

It was a shame, he thought, that he would no longer be able to see the finished dish with his own eyes as he wandered to the sound of bowls and cups hitting the old wood, but at the very least, he was sure to eat well tonight. What he could not appreciate with his sight, he thought his appetite would be more than enough for. 

Chirrut felt the excitement of a boy as he was seated in his place where he could take in the full stock of the free dinner that awaited him. In this moment, he became convinced that in some previous life of his, he must have done something amazingly virtuous to be blessed with this affair. “Is anything the matter, dear friend?” he asked suddenly when he noticed that the bao maker refused to leave his side. And he was so ready to dig in! 

“Uhh—mm—!” the bao maker choked, caught by surprise. “I am just…umm…well, is there anything else that you might prefer? Or might require?”

Chirrut couldn’t begin to imagine, but he was delighted by the man’s thoughtfulness and this eagerness which seemed to make his light in the Force pulsate. “The beef smells fantastic and so do the green beans,” he began to assure him, sweeping his hand to his dinner. “My bowl of rice is warm, and the fragrance of the oolong tea is enticing.” A happy discovery on his part when he’d finally caught the scent. He loved oolong, in the same way that he loved many things. “There is nothing more to require except, perhaps,” and here, he brought his hands together to salute his gracious host, “a friend to dine with.” And just in case that wasn’t clear yet, he even indicated the place next to him. 

That did the trick. Finally, he could welcome himself to the food; as the bao maker poured his tea, he reached for a cut of beef to lay it atop his rice and ate. It was as delicious as he’d imagined—tender meat practically melting in his mouth, the heat dancing with the sweetness and the savory taste. He went for the vegetables next, and that too was good—sweet, crunchy. 

“Hits the spot,” Chirrut said with a relish, his spirit singing and thriving as he went for more of each dish with steady gusto. “You must give my thanks to the chef.”

“Your honored chef,” the man said, “is Baze Malbus.”

Chirrut stopped suddenly, chopsticks hovering in midair. An introduction! Right when he wasn’t expecting it. That sent a happy thrill down his spine, and what a joy it was to say his name, too. “Bao Maker Baze Malbus.” It made him smile. He would probably never tire of it. “Well, your delighted diner,” he began to introduce himself, bowing slightly, “is Chirrut Imwe.”

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Master Imwe.”

“Please,” Chirrut grinned at his manners, “let us not stand on ceremonies. I am no more or less than you are. It would please me if you called me by my first name and just that. Chirrut.”

“Well then. In that case, please call me Baze.”

“That was the intention,” Chirrut confessed impishly. “So, what else is it that you do around here?” he asked after. “I saw that you have a shelf full of books! That was rather a thrilling discovery.”

“That’s all I do around here,” Baze replied somewhat meekly, chopsticks and bowl moving. “I clean the house, I work, I read. And then I sleep.”

“How exciting,” Chirrut joked along. 

“I’m living the life,” Baze added. “The house is otherwise too far from the main town, and I have made it a habit to avoid certain individuals—I may have too much time in my hands but I value it more than my machismo.”

Truly a wise man, Chirrut thought as he grinned. One must always think before they act—such was what the sages have taught them. He almost spun his head in agreement if he hadn’t caught himself. Baze might not be in the proper mood to trade verses tonight. 

“I live alone and have kept only those items I deem necessary for survival,” Baze continued. “That way I don’t spend half my life cleaning excess again and again. But, the east wing should be sufficient for you. It will be spotless by the time I am done with it.”

“You are very kind,” Chirrut said, bowing to his good host happily. All was well; he had a roof and some sturdy walls for the night. 

“I am only extending a helping hand to a friend,” Baze said, pushing his seat back. He excused himself. “I need to bring the cakes out of the steamer. They are best enjoyed when they are hot enough to burn the roof of your mouth.”

That sounded delicious, Chirrut thought. Perhaps they would be hot enough to melt like milk on his tongue, leaving a delicate sweetness and him wanting more. But even if they’d gone cold, he was sure he would insist to eat them. This Baze Malbus had proven himself to be a very good cook. If he could stay human forever to enjoy these meals, he would pray to the Goddess of Mercy day and night for it. “Then I shall eat as much as I can, for as long as I still have taste buds,” Chirrut promised him, smiling brightly.

He lingered for desserts, tea and conversation, then. After that, Baze showed him to his bedroom by the light of an old solar lamp that clinked every other second, like it had a bug in its tin belly trying to break free. The bedroom he was provided was small, for which Baze apologized, feeling a little embarrassed, Chirrut thought. 

But, as with everything the man had offered him, it was more than enough. There was a bed at one side, a writing table pushed up to the other, and windows between them so that he might catch the first rays of the morning. It was warm, and it was quiet. Perhaps it would leave a sighted man wanting, but fortunately for the both of them, he was blind. 

The moment he laid his head on the pillow after Baze had left him, he fell fast asleep.

—

That was the start of his long vacation in Baze’s house. He couldn’t say it had gone exactly to his plan, but he could definitely say that it had gone much better than if he’d planned it all. This was a sign, then, that this was the will of the Force.

He took his time to settle down; Baze had shown him around the compound early the following day but Chirrut revisited each room and space on his own when he could. Baze was a busy man who could not always attend to his guest, but that was fine by him. 

Eventually he found a rhythm of his own—in the early morning, he would perform his morning rituals as a salute to the Force, and then proceed with his meditation until breakfast was served, which he ate with Baze and his two young assistants, Jyn Erso and Bodhi Rook. Chirrut understood that both had been wary to meet this stranger who had suddenly appeared in their employer’s table, but he had been pleased to meet them and admired them all the same. Jyn reminded him of a piece of iron that was both malleable and unyielding, a bright spot in his otherwise cloudy vision that he must have turned her off by constantly smiling at her direction. Bodhi Rook was a perfect compliment, like a tenacious lit candle that refused to give into the storm that Chirrut sensed in him. Baze explained to him after their first meeting that the young man was devoted to his studies in his hopes of soon passing the imperial exam. Chirrut responded too excitedly to catch himself when he told Baze that he was happy to offer his assistance, but so far, there wasn’t yet any response to his eagerness. 

Chirrut was not offended. He would wait for the young man to come to him to accept or reject his help, as he had every right to. All was as the Force willed it. Until then, he would continue to linger in the compound, like a happy ghost who appeared and reappeared at everyone’s convenience. He learned the nature of the Force on that side of the stream, which was the same as the one in the main town except this one always seemed to smell like food, and he learned to tell the time through it and the noise from the storefront. 

As the days passed, though, his satisfaction with his blissful existence soon ran out—as a snake spirit pretending to be a normal blind man, there was only so much he could do. As he grew more familiar to Baze’s home and his company, he began to be braver. In the morning, after his rituals, he began to clean the house so that Baze would no longer have to worry about that part of his day. And then to feel more useful, he came up with the idea of brewing his morning tea. 

But it still wasn’t enough; his purpose in seeking out the bao maker was to repay him for his actions and not simply to enjoy his company—although that had definitely been a delightful bonus. The man was funny and witty in ways Chirrut could never have expected from someone else other than himself, and he was always so courteous and generous. And he cooked great food and he had a voice that both soothed and thrilled Chirrut. And he smelled great—of his kitchen and cherry wood and the sweetness of dough. As a package, all they did was to inspire him to do more—but he was fresh out of ideas. Baze never let him help in the kitchen or with the dishes, not because he was blind but because he was an honored guest. Whatever it was he came up with had to be done behind his back. 

He wondered about this as he stood in the courtyard, facing the direction of the quiet shop, in the middle of one night. That shop, the people in it, were important to Baze. If only he could help out a little in that part of his friend’s life, he would be more contented—but he doubted Baze would let him. He could already imagine his arguments. Guests do not toil for their hosts, and he was a blind man besides, who had more limitations than he had advantages. 

Well, limitations as a mortal, that is. As a snake spirit, a being of the Force, he was quite powerful. 

So why not tap into his magic? He realized this suddenly, with a start. If he could not lend a hand in a physical way, perhaps his connection to the Force could help! 

But how? The shop seemed to be managing itself well, and Baze made such amazing baos that the townsfolk kept coming back in spite of the distance, but they were never enough. There were always more empty hours than there were customers to serve, and more baos left over than there were sold. It was a shameful waste of Baze’s skills and dedication. Oh, but if only he could bring the shop out there to the people! 

…or the people out here to the bao shop? Why not, indeed! The idea shot through Chirrut’s flesh like electric—he could not bring the shop out there but he could bring the people out here! That’s it! Chirrut struck the ground with his staff, smiling triumphantly. He’d finally found a solution to both their problems. 

Well, he’d better get started—time was of the essence and he’d already wasted so much of it, which a mortal man only had so little of. Morning was coming soon, so right where he stood, he rested his staff on his hip, and began to pray, his hands clasped before him. He would call upon the Force to aid him in this; Baze was a good man, a hardworking man who deserved this assistance. As Silvanie Phest had said, heaven helps those who help themselves. This was what the sages have taught. He wondered briefly how it was possible that Baze could have gone so long without attracting a more eager clientele, and instead, gained for himself the attention of ne’er-do-wells. But it had been some time since he and Baze had last heard of them. Did that mean that they had disappeared just like that? 

Well—all was as the Force willed it. One only needed to have faith in it—and that was something Chirrut had in abundance.

—

Come sunrise, Chirrut felt the Force stirring.

It came to him as he sat in the west wing, rousing him from his meditation in the silent kitchen. The sound of the gate door opening followed closely after, with a quiet conversation which Chirrut had easily picked up. There was a man and a woman who’d asked if this was Baze Malbus’ bao shop, and Bodhi, who was the one who’d just arrived, answered that it was, that they would be open in an hour. They thanked him for the information and he returned the courtesy. 

Chirrut tried not to grin when the young man jumped and yelped upon entering the kitchen, giving the Force a little jolt with his shock. “Good morning, Bodhi,” he greeted easily. 

Bodhi mumbled his own greeting. “What are you doing here alone in the dark?” 

“Just meditating,” Chirrut said. “A quiet mind seeks a quiet place.”

“Where’s Master Malbus?” 

“Also meditating,” Chirrut answered. He wrinkled his brows and tilted his head to one side. “But in his bed, and on his dreams.” He grinned when Bodhi choked in his own laughter. 

“Well, I’m about to get started with the dough, Master Imwe. It’s about to get noisy.”

With a generous wave of his hand, Chirrut gave his permission. He would stay in spite of Bodhi’s warning. One of the machines at the left side wall suddenly grumbled to life, and the smell of flour, yeast, sugar and oil soon filled the room. Jyn arrived not long after, giving Chirrut a perfunctory greeting after a moment of unease before she hid herself under the curtain of a conversation with Bodhi. It seemed like she’d also met some interested patrons at the gate. Chirrut felt his chest growing with hope. There was a buzzing in the Force that seemed to loom with steady anticipation, something new and different to what he had been accustomed to in the past few days. He wondered if that was the answer to his question. 

The revelation came an hour after, when Bodhi came stumbling back to the kitchen after he left to open the shop, cursing as he announced, “There are people outside!” 

“Well, that’s good,” Jyn said easily. 

“No, not like that!! I mean people I can barely count with my hands!”

Jyn was always so suspicious, and this time was no exception. Chirrut sat as easy as patience itself on his corner in the kitchen when she went to check out the situation for herself. 

When she came back, he almost let his smile slip. She was half-tripping, half-running as she burst into kitchen, dragging the baskets of bao off the table. “Someone needs to get out there and get their orders fast—in order! What in the Force’s name brought them out here in the middle of nowhere?!”

“Copy that,” was all Bodhi said as he left to do as she said. 

What followed was a whirlwind of activity, and emotions, and everything else that the Force brought with it. The whole planet looked to Chirrut as if it was bursting in colors, every one of them distinct from their neighbors but without cacophony, without the kind of clashing that might come from two or more differences forced to sit next to each other. The excitement mingled well with the hunger, and the curiosity and the delight, and the impatience and the anticipation. It was one whole tapestry woven by threads that made it vivid with life, as unique to each other as they were unified by one whole image. A masterpiece. 

Chirrut could not have kept himself away for too long. In time, he, too, was drawn out of the kitchen for a slice of the miracle at work. The noise came to him as soon as he’d stepped out, drawing a silver fan from the air, straight from his imaginations, to accompany him as he approached the storefront. 

Soon, he was crying, “Come one, come all!” as he reached out to the pulsating Force, addressing the crowd that seemed to resonate with it. “Don’t be shy, there’s more than enough for everyone. Eiii!” Like a puzzle piece or an island, what felt like a slice of the glowing Force peeled itself from the great mass so that Chirrut had to chase after it with a gentle swat of his fan. “There’s no need to be in a hurry. Stay a little longer, there’s plenty more for everyone!”

“That’s right,” someone joined him, a woman with a slightly husky voice. “Just be a little more patient and you’ll be happy you stayed, just like us here at the front!”

“She’s right,” Chirrut agreed along with the rest of the waiting customers, waving his fan again. “As the teachings of the sages go, with enough time and patience, even the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.”

A morsel of wisdom to which everyone assented in their own varied ways. The Force shifted again, into something brighter, livelier. 

Almost—but not quite enough to move that one presence behind him that reminded him of a hearth, from fireplace to foundation. He was laughing when he noticed and recognized it, and that only infused the Force with more happiness, this time for him. He was delighted he could see it! This answered prayer, this work of gratitude. 

Turning around then, he oriented himself to Baze’s direction and smiled brightly.

—

Chirrut’s bowl hit the table with a little more weight than he was used to. Still, he thought it was admirable that Baze had tried to control his movements when he was so tired tonight. “What,” he wheezed, “in the name of the entire history of Jedha, was that?”

“Entire history?” Chirrut replied with a delighted grin, delaying for an answer. He couldn’t freely admit that he had something to do with it, after all. “That sounds a bit much, doesn’t it?” 

“You know what I mean!” Baze spat. His chair moved with his falling mass. “I have never seen a crowd like that before, least of all in front of my shop!”

“Ah, see, it’s really nothing so difficult,” Chirrut said with great ease. Taking his chopsticks, he reached for a dumpling in his bowl of noodles in soup. He went on, “They were drawn by their good tastes and love for premium food!”

“That explains nothing, Chirrut,” Baze protested. Chirrut ate happily, shivering slightly as the juice of the meat and the soup burst a little in his full mouth. “For the past 30 years that I’ve been doing this, this has never happened to me. No matter how many times I advertised or how many times I offered to the gods!”

Sadly, Chirrut couldn’t say he was privy to those prayers. He was, after all, only a minor deity. Still, he didn’t question it. There must surely be a reason, after all, why the Force had been so ready to aid his friend in need. “Ah!” he said, “Then finally, your investment has paid off.” This he concluded with a big smile. 

And before Baze could punch a hole through his bluff again, he waved his chopsticks towards him and said, “Eat up, before the food gets cold. This dumpling is really delicious! Rich, meaty and a little sweet—just the way I like it.” And of course he had to compliment his friend for his cooking—as he always did. It _was_ one of his inspirations to lend a helping hand, after all. And on that same note, he had decided he had entertained enough distraction from his rewarding meal as he tucked into his noodle soup which he finished with a still-steaming bowl. Compared to Baze’s usual affair, it was a rather quick and simple dinner. 

But come the next day, that was when Baze seemed to have stepped up the game to make up for it. While Chirrut minded his own business—meditating, practicing his forms—Baze got busy with the shop and shopping, and eventually cooking. 

Chirrut was his happy audience, playing his favorite game of judging the ingredients, imagining the dish through his ears and his nose alone. The final products, of course, were always more impressive than what he could put together. 

“You _smell_ delighted!” Chirrut laughed, seated as always in the place of honor from where he smelled the sweet, savory fragrance of what could only be fresh fish, steamed in soy sauce, sesame oil and spring onion. In his mind, it was whole and fat! 

“It’s festival day,” Baze answered simply, taking up his cutlery. “Since we never left the city like everyone else, our dinner should at least be special.”

“You are always so conscientious,” Chirrut said as he explored the rest of their dinner with his nose. He knew there was pork and duck at the very least, with different sauces ranging from the sweet, to the salty and the spicy. There must be some dim sum, he decided from them. Their presence in the table wouldn’t make sense otherwise, and Baze was a man who knew his business in the kitchen like no other. “I like it better this way,” he shared in his bliss. “We are warm and comfortable, the table smells great, and I am sharing it with a good friend…” Looking up to Baze’s direction, he smiled and said, “There is nothing more to want.” Even a heavenly fairy, a being divine from a mortal, could want for a simple life. If the Goddess of Mercy herself could be moved to tears by the smallest act of compassion, why couldn’t he be moved by the small things in life? 

He heard Baze’s hand move his chopsticks, and hit his bowl. There was an aroma that came with it—pork and oil—and he knew then that Baze had offered him the first taste of a feast. “Perhaps you will change your answer,” he even said, “when you have tried my pork belly. It’s a specialty of mine.” Is there anything this man could not do? 

Chirrut felt his grin from ear to ear, raising his bowl and chopsticks with the excitement of a famished boy in the streets. He ate the piece—all of the crispy skin, the melting fat and the tender meat—and shoveled half the soft rice in his bowl after it. Baze was right—he wanted to eat nothing more but the roasted pork belly forever. 

He must have finished all the food on the table, he thought without shame, but he was just being a grateful guest. What else could he have done? Still, he thought it was a shame if they turned in now, after such a good time. 

So they went out, under the stars. Chirrut had remembered how often he would stare out to the night during the festival, and how they filled the blackness, as if they were all coming to meet him from every corner of the galaxy. He remembered how dazzling they had been. How thrilling yet at the same time, so comforting to know that there was something bigger out there. How the Force reached beyond what the eyes could see. 

Baze would come to know of the last thought as he settled on the mat, slipping out his fan while his host finished the preparations for their impromptu picnic. He could smell tea and sweet cakes. “The evening’s quite lovely, too,” Chirrut went on after. “The breeze smells crisp and feels fresh when it blows.” Just as he remembered it. 

“Could I bother you with a personal question?” Baze asked after a long pause, all of a sudden.

He tilted his head at the question, brows quivering slightly. Now how was he going to answer that? “Perhaps, if I had already mastered the art of mind-reading, I may be able to answer your question. However, I’m still not a licensed telepath,” he joked, and grinned when he heard Baze groan. “So I can’t really say until you tell me your question,” was his conclusion. 

Something about the Force shifted, like if someone were to stand near a light source, dimming the room a little. Or if someone were to turn down the gas, making the fire smaller. Chirrut thought suddenly of Baze, and of the silence that came from him. This was the opposite of what he intended. Before he lost the moment to hesitation, he sidled hastily towards Baze, almost reaching his sleeve, causing the man—and the light in the Force—to jump. 

“What happened to your eyes?” he asked suddenly, almost sharply, but not quite like a demand. 

Whatever it was, it made Chirrut smile knowingly. It was only a matter of time until that question came up. It drew up the memory of that fateful day in the Heavenly Court, the drum beats of his heart, the terrible power and awe of Angber Trel who issued his sentence. The pain was still there at the back of his mind, the scratch and sting of it. Perhaps the trauma ought to have relived itself, too, but being around Baze had made it easier to deal with it. “I lost my eyesight to a righteous cause,” he started. That was probably a half-truths, but a truth nonetheless. “I had lost it…defending the helpless.”

“Don’t you regret it?” Baze asked after a beat. 

“I’m sure I must have,” Chirrut answered after another. In the end, he decided he didn’t want to talk about it at length yet. This was not the night he imagined for it. “But it happened in the past, so I can no longer remember the details,” he lied. “But if you are asking me if I still regret it, the answer is no.”

“But you can’t see the stars anymore.”

“Then you’re just going to have to tell me what they look like,” Chirrut said. It was an easy conclusion, and he nudged Baze for it. That, he hadn’t realized, was his boldest yet, towards a friend who had thus far only been his gracious host. In spite of his generosity, that ought to still demand some boundaries between them, which even a minor deity ought to know. He fell through though, and hadn’t thought about pulling back. It was almost as if there existed no reason to hold back between them. 

“What do they look like?” he whispered to be funny. 

“They look like someone had just spilled them,” Baze finally answered, his deep voice sending a pleasant shudder down his spine that brightened his smile. Strangely, he thought it was akin to feeling warm after a cool breeze. “But in a very deliberate way,” he added, “so that there’s no empty pockets anywhere.” Chirrut laughed. That was certainly one way of explaining it! And it was so smart and vivid that he swore he could see it in his mind, just as Baze said it. “Tonight they look so near, and big.”

“What else?” he egged him. There was a moment’s pause, where Chirrut felt the hair on his skin rise, but not in a way that made him feel wary. 

“It looks like tonight,” Baze continued, his voice soothingly deeper, “they came out only for our viewing pleasure.” What a thought! All these stars, all for them, and Baze’s words had made it so. He beamed at them, and the image that Baze planted in his head. It made quite a vision. “Orange or peach?” Baze asked suddenly. 

“Peach, please,” he made his request with opening hands, but in spite of that, he had barely kept himself from jumping when he felt Baze’s calloused fingertips brushing against his smoother digits as he laid a warm piece of cake in his palms and enclosed his fingers upon it. The fingertips of a true hard worker. He wished he could know the whole story behind them. He wished Baze would one day share it to him. 

The thought of which tickled his gut and pulled his grin brighter sideways, along with the touch of Baze’s hands. He felt giddy as a boy, like the first time he had crawled among the people of NiJedha as a snake. Just like then, this time felt…nice…

—

That night…had been unforgettable for Chirrut Imwe, no matter how many days had blurred past, or how many quiet evenings had come in-between. After the festival, the people returned to the town and to the shop, keeping everyone busy between the kitchen and the till which Chirrut could sense was a welcome development. The Force, although still serene, felt more alive since. It was not only in the people who came to the shop but also in those who operated it—in Jyn who he took in as a student of his school of martial arts and in Bodhi Rook, who he took in as a student of his various schools of thought, both of whom he taught during their breaks from the shop and the kitchen.

But most of all, he felt it in his dear friend Baze Malbus, whose presence in the Force reminded him now of an oven—its fire bright, warm and dependable, smelling of home, comfort, and other sweetnesses. A fitting impression, he thought, of a man who spent nearly every day of his life in the kitchen and why not? It was a good place to be! Chirrut thought so, at least—he loved being in the kitchen with Baze. 

“Tonight, I am thinking,” he began, to the chorus of Baze chopping onions, “char siew on noodles,” Baze made a noise of approval, “and black chicken,” he continued after a moment’s thought, “in four herbs soup.”

“Ugh, really?” Baze stopped chopping. “You like that sort of thing?” 

“Who doesn’t?” But Chirrut grinned at his reaction. He wished he could make a joke about being an old soul but he doubted Baze would get it. “It’s hearty and healthy, and the soup will make the meat and the bones tender. Besides, it’s good for the blood and our inner energy. We’ve been working very hard this late.”

“Yes—you brewing tea and waving your fan. You’ve been very hard at work.” Chirrut laughed as Baze chuckled. The chopping resumed. “My mother used to say the same thing. She would cook me this soup whenever I was down with an illness and make me finish the whole pot.”

“My, that sounds traumatizing.”

“She thought I grew to be a healthier and stronger boy because of that but you can imagine my determination to be fit just to avoid that soup.” Chirrut laughed. “However,” he put down the knife. Chirrut followed the shuffle of his slippers, “tonight is your menu night. And for tonight, we will have char siew pork armpit on noodles,” Chirrut jumped with a thrill. A prime cut! “and four herbs chicken soup, although I must warn you that the poultry we have is not black but there is no difference in taste anyway.”

“If you prefer a different dish, though, it’s no trouble,” Chirrut hastened to say as he heard Baze pulling at his various pots and pans. “Perhaps we can have wanton soup instead.”

“It’s no trouble, Chirrut,” Baze assured him. “It would be my pleasure to make it for you.” It was just the kind of thing for Baze to say, and he was glad of it. But for tonight, and Chirrut could not explain why…but for tonight, he could not help but blush. 

This was how they spent their evenings—picking nights, building their menus, negotiating, spending hours in the kitchen and then at dinner. Everyday was the same, and he looked forward to every day. Chirrut felt contented. 

Before he knew it, the year was coming to an end, and the shop was caught in another whirlwind of activities before the town fled to welcome the new year in their family homes. Baze would close the shop until they returned a week later. Chirrut knew Bodhi was excited—it would be the first time he would see his mother again after roughly a year. Jyn and her father would be visiting relatives, as well, but after she goes on a date with Captain Cassian Andor of the town guard. Chirrut couldn’t say he was familiar with him, although he was introduced to him not long after his arrival to the house and the shop, but he could tell from his voice, and his steady, unwavering place in the Force, that he was a good man, and that Jyn knew this, too. Chirrut was happy for the both of them. 

That night, Baze gathered them all around the dining table. For some parting words, he said. Chirrut thought they would be kind words, remarks of gratitude and some imparting of wisdom upon the young ones before they left. 

What he didn’t expect was the sound of metallic chips crashing down the wood, something that sounded and smelled suspiciously like a storm of credits pouring out in a pile. The Force jumped and shuddered with the action. 

“All this?!” Jyn cried in surprise.

“I have never seen so much money in my life,” Bodhi added, close to tears.

“We’ve been doing very well for the past few months,” Baze said as if he hadn’t heard their shock, which made Chirrut smile, “and that is in part because of all of you. So, I’d like you to accept this as a token of my gratitude. This one’s for you,” the rush of units came again, like a dull shimmering noise as they scraped along the wood, tickling the Force into a giddy energy, “you, and you.”

“Are you serious?!” Jyn cried again as Chirrut reached furtively forward, confirming what he’d heard. Baze had given him a share of the takings. 

“Just split it evenly among yourselves,” Baze went on with an easy tone. “Make sure you look nice for the fireworks. It’s your first date with Captain Andor. You, bring home something nice to your mother.” Chirrut figured he was speaking to Bodhi Rook. He removed his hand quietly from the money before they saw him touching them. “It’s been a long time since you last saw her. And you…” he said, but trailed off. Baze could not be talking to anyone else now, but him. 

What was he going to do with all that money? He had no need of it, and no desire for it, as well. A heavenly fairy never had to use it to gain what they wanted, and his lack of finances had been a good excuse for him to stick around Baze and the shop, without being honest about his debt to be paid. Without that as an alibi…what was he going to do now? He wasn’t yet ready to leave, he wanted to stay longer no matter that he might have already overstayed his welcome, but how should he say it? 

“Where _do_ you come from, Master Imwe?” Bodhi asked.

Chirrut thought about his brothers and sisters in heaven, and that made him smile. He missed them, and he wondered how Bodhi might react if he’d told the truth. But instead, all he said was, “I come from a long way from here,” to answer Bodhi’s question. Then he stopped, briefly. He had to reject the money, he had to stay. He _wanted_ to stay. By Baze’s side. 

“However,” he braced his hand near his pile of earnings again, “it is not yet time for me to go back.” With a deliberate movement, he shoved the units back to where they came from, jolting the room into another wave of shock.

“Are you serious?” Bodhi choked while Jyn whistled. The Force felt tenuous with uncertainty, but he could still feel its bold waves ready to overcome the delicate surface, almost like hope. 

“You could have bought a new robe with that, Master Imwe,” Jyn observed.

That occurred to Chirrut too late, but what excuse would he have to spend for himself when a conscientious guest would better spend the money on his own lodging, so Baze could regain his house and his solitude? Which would again be detrimental to his plan of repaying Baze for his kindness. That was still the plan, after all, he told himself. “Hm,” he said, squaring up his shoulders as he presented himself to Jyn and asked her, “does this robe make me look fat?” She and Bodhi each made a noise of delight. His rejection had been welcomed. 

But Baze protested still, sounding like he was struggling to speak past a mountain that seemed to block his throat. “Chirrut, this is yours. You’ve earned it for your hard work. I can’t take it back just like this.”

Chirrut thought briefly for a reply. “Well,” he began, “then consider it as payment for my lodging thus far.” That was a good excuse, and he had Jyn and Bodhi to thank for the idea he had only overheard, the day after he arrived. And to drive his words home, he raised his hands to salute Baze. “The balance, I will pay in the future.” This was cause for a little hoot of victory from Bodhi, who he wanted to grin to, as one would if they were part of an inside joke. 

But that settled the matter—and the Force, which felt light and warm, and sweet as honey and relief.

—

Jyn and Bodhi stayed for dinner, then left shortly after tea to prepare for their trips the next day. Chirrut had no other place to go but like them, he retired early, full of anticipation for the week ahead—a week filled with nothing but Baze’s company. He hoped it would be like that, and he went to sleep, smiling like a boy on his birthday.

When morning came, he met Baze in the western kitchen, ready to make plans with him for the first day of their own little holiday only to find him surrounded as always by his usual bao-shaped companions. Chirrut could not have lied about his disappointment at this discovery. 

“But the shop’s closed today,” was his protest. He was sat on his usual corner on the kitchen, cross-legged as he would often be, his chin and his hands propped at the top of his walking staff. By then, the cooking had finished and Baze had brought out the wicker baskets he used for peddling his goods. “I don’t want to have baos for lunch,” he added almost sulkingly. 

“Why, this is the first time I heard you complain about the menu, Master Imwe,” Baze observed with a chuckle in his voice. That made Chirrut frown, and blush at the same time. He hadn’t meant to complain but…well, he was looking forward to this. But that was until Baze revealed that, “These are for the children.”

And in an instant, Chirrut’s countenance had shifted and he had brightened up. “Children? I love children!” he said. That had been such an unexpected development, but what a delightful one, too! Children were always so precious to the gods for their virtues, and he was no different. That Baze would put them in his thoughts only thrilled him more. “Whose children are these?” he asked with barely a pause. 

“No one’s, and everyone’s,” Baze answered.“They belong to an orphanage at the top of the hill. My friends, Killi and Kaya Gimm, are the ones who look after them. When I can, I give something to them.”

Chirrut’s heart jumped at the sound of their names. Killi and Kaya Gimm. _Killi and Kaya Gimm!_ What a fortuitous coincidence. He had never met this Kaya but he knew Killi Gimm for she was his sister, the reason why he was living the life of a free man in this mortal town. And he knew too that she loved the mortals so much that the Goddess of Mercy was moved to bless her with a human sister, and that was Kaya Gimm. They looked after an orphanage for the children who had need of love, which was typical of Killi, he thought. And that Baze knew them and was happy to lend them a helping hand only made it all sweeter. 

“They sound like lovely people,” was all that Chirrut said, careful not to betray his relations with Killi even when he smiled. Later on, he would realize that this was his first mistake, latching onto the name of his friend when he should have listened to everything else that Baze had said. 

“They are,” he agreed, unaware of the true source of Chirrut’s delight. He moved his baskets around, their sounds now duller and quieter with some weight. “Sometimes, even Master Ang drops by.”

“Master Ang?”

“He’s a teacher, that’s all I know,” Baze answered him. Chirrut tried to recall a Master Ang in Killi’s stories but could not come up with a face. “But everyone looks up to him. He is like a mentor to us all,” Baze continued. “If we’re lucky enough, we might even get to meet him.” _We_ , he said! 

In a blink, Chirrut was right in front of Baze, having flown from where he was perched on his seat, no effort taken to mask his excitement. He thought he heard Baze laugh, or was that his light in the Force, tinkling like crystals? “Here, you take this, then,” he said, and Chirrut felt the weight of two baskets hanging down each end of a pole on his shoulder. What a thrill, it was like they were going on an adventure! Just the two of them. “And let’s go.”

He was as ecstatic as a boy on his first day out, tailing closely behind Baze, the tap-tap-taps of his staff matching the rhythm of his happy heart. Everything felt right, everything felt perfect—the sweet smell in the air, the music, the quiet song of a town slowing down, breathing freely for a change. He felt the lightness in the Force as it danced bird-like among and around them, and smiling happily, he wanted to laugh. What a good day to be alive and free! 

Even when the Force jumped, and tightened like a fist in the seams, he could not think differently. There was no darkness that came with it, and when it spoke out in alarm, it beckoned to his good friend Baze Malbus. Chirrut’s heart leapt suddenly at the sound of his name as he turned to the stranger. 

“Talmo, good morning,” Baze replied cheerfully.

“It’s luck that we’ve met.” The man was breathless, as if he’d been running and dragging the Force with him which now hung about him like a restless pet in the form of a fabric. “How much for three of your lotus baos? I’m running late for my trip and I haven’t had anything to eat yet.”

“I’m sorry, Talmo but, these baos aren’t for sale,” Baze said. 

“What?” the man said in shock, the Force falling with his disappointment, and even Chirrut had been taken by surprise. The man was hungry! And had urgent business and he was sure they had more than enough baos left if they gave him three. There can’t be so so many children, can there? And if three children should go unfed, he was sure he and Killi could do something about it between themselves. He had lost his eyesight—not his magic! 

“Eiii,” Chirrut began, clicking his tongue at Baze and wagging his finger as a teacher would. “You can’t do that. You heard the man, he’s late and he’s hungry. Besides, opportunities like this only come once in a blue moon!” Wasn’t he ready to buy these baos that were not for sale? If he was ready to pay a fair price for it, then there was no reason for Baze to deny him his request. 

“Master Imwe is right, Master Malbus,” Talmo added quickly. “I hope you don’t mind but I’m desperate now. I’ll pay you 12 units for three baos.” Chirrut almost jumped but had to hide his surprise. Twelve units was just too much! And he would have spoken up—but he wanted to see what Baze would make of this tempting and attractive offer. Gripping his staff firmly, he listened closely. 

He heard Baze sigh as he said, “Well, that’s too much now.” Followed by the familiar sounds of paper rustling, of Baze finally giving in and gathering his order. Chirrut gave a nod of approval in his head—Baze understood the unfair position he would put Talmo by accepting his price but would not let him go hungry. “Listen, keep the money but if you want some baos, then I’ll give you some baos. Here.” The baos landed on a hand. Chirrut almost opened his eyes in shock as he and the Force gaped at Baze. “It’s not for sale so I won’t accept money for it.”

“But I can’t just take this for free!” Talmo cried.

“He’s right,” Chirrut added hastily, poking his friend in his arm. Baze would not accept the payment. A man who’s had a hard life would not accept a windfall from heaven! He could not believe his ears and now, it was more important for him to make sure of Baze’s intentions and actions. It almost felt to him as if everything was hinged on this test. “It’s hardly fair for you. Kindness is admirable but we mustn’t do it on our own expense. The sages say we must not neglect ourselves in the service of others!”

“Chirrut, it’s just three baos, you and I can live with that,” Baze said. “It’s just three baos,” he repeated, but Chirrut realized now that this time, he was speaking kindly to Talmo. “Save your money for something else.”

“Master Malbus—” Talmo tried again. 

“You’re running late,” was all Baze said to him. “Travel safely.” And that was that. 

Finally, Talmo gave in, stuttering his gratitude.“May the Force be with you!” he gasped, the Force full of his joy before he ran off, leaving them three baos less than they started off with. And with no income to speak for it! All because Baze wished to be kind. 

And he _was_ kind—a kind-hearted man who valued others more than himself, who sacrificed easily though it may prove to be a discomfort for himself. Was it any wonder that the Force loved him so much? Made him warm and light? A strong and safe presence that Chirrut could pick out easily in the midst of his blindness? Was it any wonder that he, too—

“Chirrut?” 

“Hm?” Chirrut looked up to him, smiling a little too much than would have been normal for a man who hadn’t been deep in his own thoughts—and delight. 

“Everything okay?” 

He nodded. Everything was perfect. 

“Come on, then,” Baze said, returning to their trip. “We are running a little late.” Of course they are. 

Chirrut followed him this time, making sure that he could be heard from the rhythm of his walking stick, but hoping also that that would be enough to convince Baze not to turn around and look for him anymore. He would never be able to explain the grin splitting his face from ear to ear otherwise, or the happy beating of his heart or the warmth rushing to his face at his new discovery:

Not all men were cruel—the teachings of the sages were not all true!

—

Chirrut was happy, through and through. When Baze had asked him what he was beaming about, all he’d told him was that he was excited to finally meet the children, and that was in part true. It was difficult not to smile, after all, when he could already feel them bursting through the Force, their collective energy like happy, dancing atoms, even from the gentle slope that led up to the orphanage. With every step he took, he thought their strong little hearts only became more palpable, the light that they bore more dazzling to him.

He would not be exaggerating, he thought, to say that he already loved them as he stood at the gates, which opened up to them with the sound and song of the children’s unbridled glee. Chirrut could no longer remember how his cheeks felt like at the corners of his grin, or how it was to breathe in the face of something so wondrous. He could not see them, but he could _feel_ them, right there in his heart of hearts! They were one with the Force, and he was with them. 

Baze’s hand ghosted to his, but he was already gone before Chirrut could fold his fingers around him, reappearing at his elbow. If he hadn’t been distracted by the children and their voices in the Force, he might not have recovered so easily from his disappointment. But then, Baze had also said closely to him, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to them.” And his voice was so handsome, deep and gentle, that Chirrut’s heart had leapt happily in agreement. 

Or Baze would try, that is; not two steps in and Chirrut was already surrounded by squeals and laughter, every one of them crying and pulling for Baze’s attention that he could not help but laugh himself. Baze was so well-loved! And why shouldn’t he be? Chirrut knew where they were coming from. Those same hands that had been grappling at Baze soon fell on his robes, stroking to feel its smooth silk, the sturdiness of his walking staff and they touched him, too, when he held out his hand to be guided eagerly, but oh so painstakingly carefully, to the courtyard when Baze had finally succeeded in mentioning him. Chirrut’s heart was bursting, and he was driven to tears. These children, they were the most precious things in the galaxy! 

What a shame that their acquaintance should be cut short, summoned away by their beloved guardians who had appeared suddenly to unburden them with the children, although Chirrut bore them no ill. His smile returned, and the racing of his heart as he felt the Force moving in soft, silken and familiar waves. There she was! His old and dear friend. 

“Master Malbus,” she said, in that gentle, affectionate way he had always known of her. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“ _Lady_ Gimm,” Baze sighed in response as she started towards them. “Forgetting our manners again, are we?”

“You know I hate to call you Baze in front of the children,” Killi replied. “But it’s so good to see you again!”

“I’m very glad to see everyone, too, Killi,” Baze said. Kaya joined them after in a childish excitement, squealing in delight as Baze made a noise as if he was lifting a heavy object. “And you, Kaya Gimm! Is this why I never see you in the shop anymore?” In the midst of their meeting, Chirrut felt the Force jump, like scarlet robes kicking, and he knew then that he’d been found. 

“My sister and the children need my help more than the droids,” Kaya answered. “Besides, it’s the new year! A time where the family must be together.”

She couldn’t have said it better, Chirrut thought, as he grinned to his friend’s direction and nodded his head slightly. He could tell where she was standing through the wrinkle in the Force. 

“I brought a friend along, by the way,” Baze went on, oblivious to the secret reunion that had happened. “I thought you might not mind. Killi, Kaya, I’d like you to meet,” he shifted then so he could give the floor to Chirrut. He took this as his cue to raise a formal salutation, resting his walking staff on his hips as he did so, “Master Chirrut Imwe. He’s a scholar and an expert martial artist.”

“Master Malbus is speaking too highly of me,” Chirrut said, allowing himself finally to smile more honestly. “I hope you understand, it is a shame to introduce a nobody and a do-nothing as a friend. But well met, well met!”

“You’re selling yourself too short!” Baze sighed. “Kindness is admirable but not in expense of yourself. This is the teaching of the sages.”

“Is that what the pot that calls the kettle black says?”

“I have to stop you before this goes on forever,” Killi stepped in suddenly, and Chirrut wanted to laugh. What a joy to find out that she hadn’t changed one bit! “What is important is that Master Imwe is a friend of Baze, and therefore a friend of ours. Welcome to our humble orphanage.”

“Must you keep your eyes closed, Master Imwe?”

That was a question Chirrut hadn’t expected, and neither had the Force. No one else had asked him that question except for Baze Malbus, and that had been a long time ago. He opened his mouth as if he had an answer ready, although he was still thinking about how he wished his good friend could help him—but perhaps she _had_ heard his plea in the Force. For there was a sudden slap, and then:

“Killi!”

“You shouldn’t ask such personal questions of Master Imwe, that’s very rude,” Killi said sharply, the first time he had heard her speak that way although he was sure it was her nerves that he heard more than any real discontent. “Better yet, why don’t you get the children ready so they can finally eat? Hurry to the dining hall to get them settled, I’ll take care of Baze and Master Imwe.”

Chirrut owed Killi a miracle, he thought, as she guided them up to a building across the courtyard where all the children had been kept waiting. Kaya was upset by her sister’s treatment for which Chirrut wished he could apologize, but Baze seemed to have taken no notice of his and Killi’s secret, and that he decided was great news. The children let out quite a cheer when they stepped in and began to serve the food. 

In the end, he could not be of much help because they had wanted to play with him, and admittedly, he had wanted to play with them, too. He decided then that he was helping out by distracting the children while Baze and the Gimms were doing their tasks, implanting himself right in the middle of a circle of young ones like the eye of a tornado. 

Killi Gimm had to be the one to extract him, now chiding him for distracting the children from their food. That was before she offered him a tour of the temple, as she called it, and Chirrut readily accepted. 

They walked side by side as they left the spacious hall, Chirrut casting a quick smile to Baze as he passed him. Killi led the way to a corner out of earshot—not too far that they could no longer hear the children, but it was safe enough that she and Chirrut could finally hug each other without coming up with an explanation. 

“Chirrut Imwe, how good it is to see you!” Killi practically squealed as she squeezed him, though still mindful of their clandestine reunion. 

“I wish I could say the same for you, Killi Gimm but as you can see,” Chirrut grinned, “my eyes no longer could. Did you get that? I made a double pun.”

“And you’ve never changed one bit,” Killi went on, parting from him so she could take his hands and grasp them tightly. “Your jokes are still terrible!” 

“You are very much welcome,” Chirrut said with a bow. Perhaps such cheekiness ought to merit him a slap in the arm but they only giggled at each other and hugged again. “It is so good to see you again, Killi!” 

“What a coincidence that you should meet Baze,” Killi said as they parted again. “How did you find him?” 

“I didn’t—it was he who found me.” A fact that made Chirrut smile as he recalled Baze’s noble actions by the lake. “He took me in as a guest after I had helped him take care of some ne’er-do-wells. But I still have a large debt to pay to him.”

“Baze is a very good man.”

“And you? How did you two meet?”

“In the markets, one day,” Killi began. “I had taken some of the children with me to go shopping but had lost one of them as we were about to leave. It was Baze who found her and brought her to us—she had found a cat and had followed it until it attacked her. Baze had her treated and cleaned up before he returned her to us, so you can imagine how expensive that could get.”

“And he wasn’t a man who had much,” Chirrut shared, nodding eagerly. He was moved, short of clutching his heart. Not all men was cruel, and king of them all was Baze Malbus! The thought of which made his cheeks warm. 

“He refused to accept payment for what he called was basic decency so we sent him a gift made by the children. To thank us for it, he sent us a basket of his delicious baos. You can see where that went.”

Chirrut laughed, but it surprised him how happy he was that Killi had to grab his hands to remind him that they were old souls hiding their history. But he was so full of glee, and so was the Force, that it seemed disrespectful not to be so cheerful. It was a good story to hear and he loved it for what it spoke about Baze. 

Killi embraced him then, arms tight around his frame, as if with emotions that he had to respond with equal fervor. “Oh how I’ve missed you, Chirrut Imwe. We miss you in heaven, too!” 

“Suddenly everyone misses the snake! Is it because there is suddenly no one to accuse of mischief and bad luck?” 

“Don’t be silly,” Killi said, clicking her tongue. She stood back to cup his jaw and his cheek, which only made him smile wider. “And you look so good as a human, too!” 

“I do?” Chirrut was thrilled. If she thought he looked handsome as a human then surely this was what Baze saw every day of his life thus far, too.

“Yes,” Killi replied. “And I am so glad to have seen you again, but worried that you had to come up here just so we could meet again.”

“Well as you can see,” Chirrut tipped his chin up proudly, “that hike did not beat this blind man down.”

“That’s not it! You’ve forgotten what I told you before you left heaven, haven’t you?” 

“What?” 

“I told you that you would be safe in NiJedha for as long as you avoided the hills!” 

“What is it in the hills that I should avoid, anyway? Snakes?” 

A joke which caused the skies to boom with laughter, even though Killi didn’t. The sudden sound caused both of them to jump, Chirrut looking around in alarm for something he could not see. The voice struck quite a familiar tone in him, like something out of a trauma, and even more so when it asked, “What’s all this racket now?” 

“It’s not snakes or heights that you should be worried about,” Killi hissed. “It’s…!”

“Master Ang, you’ve arrived,” Kaya announced cheerfully. That was the moment Chirrut’s heart fell, and the Force that surrounded him had gone cold with his fingers. How could he have missed it? Baze had already warned him! A Master Ang who also came to the orphanage of Killi Gimm. Master Ang wasn’t just some well-meaning old man, he was… 

“Angber Trel,” Chirrut breathed in realization. Master Ang was Angber Trel, Angber Trel was Master Ang. The same deity who had punished him for his actions! Did he know he was in the orphanage? Had he come to take him back? If he did, what about Baze? What about him and Baze?

Killi took his hand then and dragged him away, before Angber Trel could find him. They would hide until the elder went away, she said, and Chirrut trusted her for it. But instead of relief, all he could think of was Baze Malbus, and the smell of him and the warmth of his presence. And how cold his world would be without them.

—

They thought he would never leave the orphanage until Chirrut had revealed himself, and they had already started making plans of escape and the excuses to say along with them. But to their relief, there had been no need for it. When Chirrut and Killi had returned, Baze remarked that he looked very happy, and considering that he had escaped eternal imprisonment again, Chirrut thought he was right.

Sadly, the afternoon passed much too quickly for Chirrut who had played with the children and told them stories, as well. They had asked him to stay on until dinner, and he wanted to say yes, but there was a chill in the wind as it blew, something that was markedly unnatural for the season. He felt his fear race up to his spine. So when Killi insisted that they should be on their way, he echoed her urgency. 

They shared one last fleeting touch as Killi passed an umbrella to him. The first drops of rainfall came down as they arrived at the foot of the hill, and Chirrut issued a quick prayer of thanks to the Force that they had reached the bottom without any mishaps. 

That was only the beginning, of course. What came after was an angry storm that had thrown him off-kilter, trapping him in a world that was nothing but noise and water. Baze had had to take him by the elbow just so he could walk without falling or hitting something. 

He couldn’t hear what he’d said when he pushed him somewhere the rain couldn’t seize and left him there, alone. A shot of panic struck him in the heart and for a minute, there was nothing he could do but to hang on to his useless umbrella and his walking staff. But Baze was still out there, somewhere. He felt him in the Force, his familiar fire, burning strong and bright in spite of the weather, but when he called to him, he would not respond. 

He had been about to step back out to the rain to join him when finally, he appeared, thick fingers wrapping around his hand with the umbrella, a long arm surrounding him from the back as they charged into the storm as one. Baze was drenched, and so was he in spite of the umbrella they shared, but Baze was still warm, and Chirrut could not help but tuck himself next to him as they navigated their way home. 

His foul mood finally caught up with him once they’d made it safely inside the house, a kind of feeling that came with having been scared and upset for nothing. “Kindness is admirable but not in expense of yourself,” Chirrut scowled as he left Baze’s bedroom after he swept it clean of any and all towels he could find. He had lived in this house long enough to know its various sounds and nook and crannies by heart. “Well whichever sage taught that clearly hasn’t been stuck in the middle of a storm yet!”

“The teachings of the sages are not true, then?” Baze chuckled, trying to make light of the situation for sure. Clearly he was a lot less bothered of what had happened because of what he didn’t know. 

And for that, Chirrut made a conscious effort to calm down. “Perhaps not all of them, as I had been led to believe,” he said in a much quieter fashion as he spread out the closest towel he could find. “Well, you ought to take your shirt off, before you catch a cold,” he advised him, but he was already reaching out for Baze’s face with one hand, like a blind man groping around for a chair to balance himself on. He found his cheek in the darkness, his beard grazing his palm softly, and that had almost made him smile as he began to pat him dry with a towel in one hand. Only, he’d realized with a start, that this was now the closest he had been to Baze…and he wished he knew what to make of it. Of how distinctly aware he was of Baze’s skin, the smell of it, his breath and the feeling it left him with. Of wanting to move closer, to remain in his warmth and space, like a boy wishing to curl up in bed in a cold, rainy evening, but not quite either. The nearness of Baze…the reality—the possibility that was him…made him yearn for something more permanent with him. More secure. Something he thought must be the definition of bliss, or this thing the mortals called _longing_. 

Baze put a stop to his thoughts and his movements when he caught his hand, sending tiny sparks of electricity where they connected. His touch was so soft and gentle that Chirrut had forgotten his own thoughts. Embarrassed to be caught off guard, and pleased to be held, he could only smile and nod as if in understanding. “Okay,” he said. “You’re a big boy now who doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.”

“You should look after yourself, too,” Baze replied, relinquishing him of his task so Chirrut drew his hands back. He folded his fingers, as if to keep the memory of Baze’s touch. “Go get changed. I’ll make us tea.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chirrut agreed.

After that, they made dinner, as they would—Chirrut’s favorite chicken soup with four herbs, some spicy vegetables, and ginger milk curd for dessert. They talked over tea until the rain stopped, and then finally they called it a night—one among many he had almost lost, but didn’t. Chirrut felt happy and at peace, falling asleep with another prayer of thanks and a smile on his lips. Tomorrow, he was determined to give all his attention to Baze Malbus, like a man blessed with a second life. They could stay in all day and do absolutely nothing and Chirrut knew he would not complain. 

Which was exactly what happened the next day, when Baze had caught a cold. 

Chirrut sighed—he should have known. Men could be so fragile. “You should have changed into something warm and dry the moment we got home,” he said to the man across the table from him, a bowl of peanut dumplings between his hands. “You sound terrible!”

“Nothing a hot cup of tea and some rest can’t fix,” Baze said and sniffled. His voice had suddenly taken on some weight, the kind that came with a flu, and he just felt so tired that Chirrut himself felt his own shoulders slacking just by listening to his voice. “This will pass,” he added. 

But Chirrut only sighed and shook his head. That was what they always said when they’d failed to listen to wisdom. “You have a really low cold tolerance,” he said to no one in particular, an incredulous observation. “I should have known.” He would make him tea, he decided as he scooped up a soft dumpling with his deep spoon and chewed it. Even then, however, he hadn’t been so worried—Baze was a strong man and if he said that this would pass after some tea and rest, then he believed him. 

It was only when the evening fell that things took a turn for the worse. In hindsight, Chirrut realized he had been a fool—there was already a sickness in the Force. A heavy fog that settled in his heart and his stomach which he’d turned, quite literally, a blind eye on. Anyway, there really _was_ a sick man in the house, and he was resting and taking it easy so that his illness did not overcome him. And then he looked into him to ask about dinner, and found that the man could not speak, much less move. 

In a rush, he moved to his bedside and tested his forehead, only to pull back so urgently, as if he’d been made to touch a cast iron pan. “Aiya, you’re burning up!” he gasped, startled. Everything came crashing down to him then, like a thousand credits falling—the sickness in the Force, the cold silence. “Aiya, if I’d only known this morning you would come down with a fever, I would have…” But then he didn’t, and it was too late now. The cold had gotten worse. 

He rose to his feet quickly, planting his walking stick firmly on the floor as though he might use it as a vaulting pole. His heart was racing, and his mind was racing _it_. He had to do something, he had to do something…! “I’ll make some tea and look for medicine. I’ll be back very soon,” he said quickly as he started to leave. 

But Baze’s hand caught him, warm and heavy, too heavy for a man who offered unconditional gentleness to everyone he met. That was the first time Chirrut felt his heart break into a thousand pieces that if he were to patch it back, he knew he would already be missing a few and the fitting would be wrong. 

He answered to it, catching Baze’s hand when it fell under its own weight, holding it firmly, but softly in his own. He knelt next to Baze, and when he asked him to stay, with a voice that seemed to fade in the wind, he had to smile through the pain. “Your presence gives me comfort. I feel better, already,” the sick man added. 

“As you should,” Chirrut joked gently. “Close your eyes, and when I return, open them. Then it will be like I never left to begin with.” He wished he could offer him better comfort now but without medicine, without anything at all, he was helpless. The most he could offer was a comforting touch, a tender hand landing on Baze’s cheek, his thumb tracing his bone lightly. Baze offered no more protest when he removed his hand, so he left finally. 

He caught the pharmacy just as it was about to close, and served the medicine with some tea to kill the taste. That night, Baze slept easily and Chirrut felt a slice of peace and hope knowing this. Perhaps the fever wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps it’ll be away in three days tops. 

It never happened that way. Come the next few days, Baze’s illness only became worse—he could not stay conscious for too long, much less finish an entire bowl of rice porridge or a whole pot of tea, brewed to address different ailments. Once, Baze had tried no matter that Chirrut had discouraged him and ended up coughing out his food when his stomach could not keep it down. It became a little more difficult to feed him after that, the guilt of wasting Chirrut’s efforts riding heavily on Baze’s shoulders, but Chirrut never gave up. 

When he meditated, he stayed close to Baze so he could hear his every moan, no matter that it was for his parents or his grandmother. When Baze called for him, he was always there, no matter that he had hurried from the kitchen, blanched by the layers of his worries. Baze’s temperature came and went, but his strength always flagged. 

Still, Chirrut made it a point never to appear without a smile, and an air of cheerfulness about him. “If you can’t stand to be apart from me, maybe I should just share your bed,” he joked when he was summoned again one time, standing by the door to appear disaffected and easy. He said whatever might make Baze happy, and himself as well. “How are you?” he asked as he approached and sat next to him, testing the damp cloth on his forehead. 

“Better,” Baze managed to croak. “Now that you are here,” he added. He stayed in bed, which Chirrut took to mean that this was not a very good day. Otherwise, Baze would have at least tried to sit up. “What day is it?” he asked.

Chirrut made a conscious effort to stretch his smile wider, the prelude to another joke. “It’s a perfect day to see your face,” he said. A non-answer, but how could he possibly tell him that it had been three days since he fell ill? He was supposed to be better now, strong and fit. They could have gone to a vacation together… 

Baze chuckled, like dry wood crackling. “You’ve never seen my face,” he said.

Chirrut, in fact, had, but that was neither here nor there. So he shook his head, and laid his hand instead on his cheek, as though that would be a good enough replacement for a better response. “I see it in my dreams,” he assured him, and he did.

Baze fell asleep then, and the full weight of his thoughts, the ache in his chest and his bones smothered him again as he stumbled out of the room, swaying like a drunkard, hand out to a pillar. He loved him—he understood this now. Only a love so deep could bridge two souls that the pain would find its way across. Like two stars parted by the galaxy, reunited only by a bridge of magpies. If only he could beg the Force to cause pain, he would take the illness in Baze’s stead with tears of thanks. He was the stronger of the two of them, and had caused harm that would merit a fitting punishment besides. Baze had not. Not even the gods could be so cruel as to ignore that, or to make him suffer so that Chirrut, too, would suffer as punishment. 

It was just a thought that occurred to him, but helpless, he was suddenly afraid that that had been the cause. _He_ had been the cause! 

He gathered his hands in a panic, stitching together a hasty prayer of forgiveness. He would go back to heaven. If it would make Baze better, he would go back to heaven right this instant! 

“Chirrut Imwe,” came the sigh of the wind, and he stopped. 

His first instinct was to come running back to Baze—he thought the man had woken up and was calling for him again—but the voice was not so weak as it was…soft. Like silk. Like something that had no shape, something that was made purely of air. Of the Force. 

He turned to his side. When he opened his arms, he felt Killi Gimm within them, cool and warm at once, like mint to his skin. In spite of his heartache, he felt deeply touched that Killi had come all this way in her astral form just to give him comfort. 

“Sister, I love him,” Chirrut bemoaned, gasping. “And I do not know what to do. I think he is hurting because of me but I don’t want to leave him.”

“You don’t know that,” Killi chided him gently. “One cannot be cruel to oneself. It comes with giving respect to the Force. This is what the sages teach us. What happened to Baze was a misfortune.”

“But I don’t know how to help him,” Chirrut sighed heavily. Killi parted from him then as if to look at him. “The medicines do not work. It has been three days since he fell ill!”

“Have faith, Chirrut Imwe. Trust in the will of the Force.”

Chirrut shook his head. “I never lost faith in the Force, but I do not believe that the Force can be so cruel just to test our devotion. The Force is a balance among all things, not a moral compass!”

Killi paused, her coolish-warmish grasp never leaving his sleeves. “You have said so yourself—the Force is a balance among all things,” she said later. “And as we are all made of the Force, and to the Force we shall all return, perhaps there is an imbalance within himself.”

“Himself?” Chirrut parroted her, sounding a little in disbelief. His heaviness was forgotten now. This was something new that could help them! “You mean there might be too much inner energy in him?” Well, he was no doctor but he thought that made sense. 

“Perhaps,” Killi agreed anyway. “His own body has to produce the balancing energy so he can heal.”

“But he is already too weak,” Chirrut protested, sighing, shifting on his feet in discontent. “He cannot heal himself. If only I could share my magic with him, then perhaps he could—” He stopped suddenly, his eyes growing wide at his own words. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe how he could have possibly missed this! “If I gave him my magic, then he could heal himself!” 

“Ha?” Killi asked. “And how are you supposed to do that?” 

“How else?” Chirrut found his grin now, as he raised his hand to salute. “But by following the example of the most venerated Goddess of Mercy, who sacrificed her eyes and her arms to heal her father, when no medicine could.”

“You’re not actually going to do that, are you!” she almost cried. 

“Well no,” Chirrut relented. “Not that—but the energy that flows within me.”

“Ha,” went Killi again. There was a brief stop before she continued, “And how do you plan to make him drink that?” 

“I suppose I must mix it with his tea.”

“Aiyo, you’re not thinking,” Killi said with a click of her tongue, making Chirrut feel rightly chastised. “You’ll need something stronger to mask the taste. Baze won’t drink it if he knows it’s blood. He has to be convinced it’s not blood.”

Chirrut frowned, pulling his brows together in thought. Obviously, Killi meant to mix it in something that was stronger than tea. He thought about the medicine from the pharmacy but decided it was foul enough as it is. Perhaps some soup, he thought, if he only knew how to cook something other than rice porridge. No, it had to be something that was already there, ready to be taken. 

He looked up to Killi suddenly. “The storage room!” 

They went through the kitchen, and out through another door that groaned as Chirrut pulled it open. “Do you need a light?” he asked. 

“Do you know where the light switch is?” she asked in return. Never having needed one, Chirrut admitted that he didn’t. So they went without one. 

“What are we looking for?” Killi asked. 

“Wine, the kind that is strong enough to mask the taste. I cannot trust my sense of smell, not when my nose is picking up everything. Can you find it?” 

Killi was quiet for a minute. “I think I see one,” she said after. “It’s near the wall to your left. Keep going,” she instructed her friend who moved without waiting to be told. “Okay, stop. Now from the wall, count three jars. It has a short handle at the top and an extended spout pointing upwards. Can you find it?”

Chirrut came to his knees to search for it by his hand, his fingers tripping past wax seals and glazed porcelain before he came upon the slender arm and narrow opening that Killi had pointed. He drew it to himself, forced the cap off with a flick of his thumb and sniffed inside. The scent was immediately sour, but one that came with a fruity accent. 

“Yes!” Chirrut said, smiling brightly. “This will work just perfectly.” The jar was not so full anymore, but he hoped there was more than enough left for Baze.

Killi celebrated their success with an applause, then reached for Chirrut to embrace him again before she left. She was getting tired, and could not keep her astral form for much longer. But they parted easily, knowing that Chirrut and Baze were now in better places. 

Night had fallen by the time Chirrut had finished his meditation and prayers in preparation for the wine he would serve Baze. He brought it to the dining table, with a shallow bowl and a blade sharp enough to cut his flesh. He sat down and pulled back the wide sleeve of his left arm. Holding out his forearm, he laid the blade onto the meat, and with barely a moment to hold his breath, he pressed and broke his skin. The sting was instantaneous, and seared when he felt his blood leaking from the wound but he kept an iron grasp on his focus—Baze needed this, and nothing was more important. 

He moved quickly; he let the blood drip into the bowl, dressed his wound with a strip of gauze, then filled the bowl with wine before mixing it all together with the knife. 

He came to Baze after, rousing him from his sleep with a light touch on his sleeve. He felt sorry that he had to interrupt him while he was resting but he had to get better. He slipped his arm at the back of Baze’s shoulders, balancing the bowl in the other hand while he carried the sick man until he had sat up. 

“Drink,” he said softly, bringing the bowl to him. Baze’s rejection was instantaneous, and it was all Chirrut could do to not to drop both patient and drink when Baze flung his arm outwards. Without his vision, and shocked by the poor reception, it was a lot harder. “Don’t!” he cried, removing the wine from harm. “It’s snake wine. It’s good for you, it will help you recover.” If Baze only knew what he truly meant, he thought he would laugh. Wished he would. Chirrut was at his wit’s end to reassure Baze and ease him. He really ought to be more careful with his words, though. He heard Baze make a gurgling noise as he laid his heavy head on his arm. It was a lot easier now to feed him the concoction, slowly and painfully though it was consumed. But Baze had drunk it all, much to Chirrut’s relief. He stayed with him as he fell back to sleep, fingers coming the long oily locks of his hair, and rose from his bedside only when he’d almost landed on the floor after nodding off himself. 

Come the morning, Baze was up bright and early, and it seemed to Chirrut as if his joy was so great that it had been enough to lighten up the Force itself. The wine had worked—Baze was now and would get better! 

“Where did you get that?” he’d asked him when Chirrut came in to feed him his porridge. Even his voice sounded stronger! Had regained its old weight; Chirrut could trace his soothing rhythms from it again. “I didn’t know we had snake wine.”

“It’s there in one of the storage rooms,” Chirrut lied through his smile, although really it was a half-truth. Another one of his. There was no evidence to prove that he was mixing his blood in, anyway—the knife was clean, and he healed easily without leaving the vestige of a scar. “You must have forgotten. Now eat; now that you can actually carry your head, maybe you’ll finally finish the bowl.”

Baze did eat and he did, to Chirrut’s joy, finish his meal, tea and all, without coughing them back out. “I feel like such a proud parent,” he joked with a dramatic sniffle, wiping at a corner of his shut eye, and for the first time in what felt like a century, he heard Baze laugh again. 

Chirrut forgot what it felt like to be hopeless. He fed the wine to Baze twice in a day, once during the morning and the other at night, and for every time that Baze drank, he became healthier and stronger. He still had difficulty staying awake, and sometimes Chirrut still heard him moaning about some childhood memory he was reliving in his dreams, but he was not so worried now. He had faith in the Force, but he also had faith in Baze Malbus. 

Then one day, the wine was gone. Chirrut had thought he would have enough to last Baze until he could stand on his own two feet but that night, the jar felt light in his hands. He raised its belly next to his ear to listen to its thin sloshing and knew there would not nearly be enough to hide the taste of iron. He clicked his tongue and sighed, setting down the jar. He had no choice—he would have to go out and get a new one. 

Something that was easier said than done. If Baze woke up to find that he was gone, he would have to come up with an explanation. And worse, Baze might wake up looking for him for comfort. The house was too far from the town to be convenient so that he could not return easily. 

His solution then was to leave faster, keeping all his noises to himself until he was out the door and past the stream that parted them from civilization. The Force was silent tonight, like the lazy mist of midnight at the foot of the mountain, present…but empty. It felt to him as if it was an anxious dog tailing him closely, a shadow in his subconsciousness but if he ever turned to shoo it away, it would be gone, as if it were his imagination. It made Chirrut feel uneasy although he never lagged in his steps. He thought it was simply the lack of living contact. 

But the town offered him no solace either. To a blind man, it felt like walking in a vacuum, or an empty planet that led off to nowhere wherever he went. More kindly, it felt like visiting a ghost town—he could hear his steps echoing faintly on each side of the path but a great distance parted him from both of them. 

He hadn’t been in town a lot these past few days. Chirrut was worried it had shifted its appearance without his knowing, but to his luck, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The liquor shop he was thinking of was still right where he’d left it. Chirrut almost smiled in relief as he touched its signage posted just above the barred window where their orders were taken, but time was of the essence, and that was only the easy part. 

The next step was to take a jar from its storage, and that required him to sneak in through a backdoor, search blindly across a hundred of carafes and try not to break something. As far as his actions were concerned, it was not so difficult—but the weight it left in his conscience was heavier than he’d been prepared to carry, even when he’d left a generous amount of credits as payment for his midnight purchase. Perhaps the shopkeeper would not mind so much so long as he was compensated, but that didn’t change the fact that he had played with his trust by breaking in, and the money he left wasn’t his money. It was Baze’s. 

The Force would smite him, he thought, as he locked up after him, tested the door to make sure he had done it well, and finally left, the jar within his arm. The Force would smite him and he would be ready to face what he deserved. 

He just didn’t expect it to come so soon, like an assassin waiting in the shadows for the right moment to strike. If it hadn’t been for the uneven ground, Chirrut doubted he would have heard the assailant at all. 

But he spun at just the right beat, swinging out his walking staff to meet the other in a clash of wood and bells. That had only tightened his heart with fear, and he knew that it would have shown on his face and his open eyes. 

He backed off to build a distance between him and the enemy, lashing out his staff only to parry and dislodge but never to attack. The jar stayed safely within the grasp of his left hand, tucked to his side, and that was another level of difficulty for him to go around of but this would not be a long fight anyway, he thought. He would run—as soon as he could, he would run.

If only his enemy would give him the chance, but despite his age, his strikes only came at him stronger, their fierceness reflected off the angry ringing of the bells. For what it was worth, though, being a younger spirit, Chirrut knew he could at least match his pace. 

And overcome it; he wished he didn’t have to, but he was out of time and all sorts of horrors was badgering his imagination. Zipping, he dove under a mean swing that would have ruined his ear and jabbed his staff forward towards the old man’s knee. The effect was instantaneous, and he faltered. 

Chirrut pulled himself back up to his height to bow messily towards his opponent in apology, then finally turned and ran. Baze would be waiting for him. Baze might be wailing for him and he would not be anywhere near to come to him. 

“Coward!” the old man cried. “You cannot run from your true nature though you may try to run from me. Once a snake, always a snake!”

Chirrut wished he could ignore that and just kept on running, but even snake spirits had pride and if he didn’t stop this now, how much farther would he go to hunt him? How much closer to danger would Baze be when they finally met again? 

His feet stopped then, and he turned, looking desperately at the old man who approached him with a strange chime to his steps. He shouldn’t have attacked him—the sages said one had to respect one’s elders. But the sages also said that above all, life was most important, and Chirrut believed that more than anything. 

“Respected Elder Angber Trel,” Chirrut began with a salute, “as always, you are wise—I cannot go against my true nature as you cannot betray your own. But this cannot be all there is to us!” he said, almost in a cry. “For why else must the sages teach us that we must have compassion for all things connected to the Force? Or that above all, life is most important?”

“These are truths, passed down to us by the wisest ones,” Angber Trel agreed, “but you cannot hide your lies and crimes under their words!” 

“Neither can I hide behind my true nature from my responsibility towards others,” Chirrut snapped back. “This man has rescued me when I am most in need and I have made a sacred vow to repay him for his goodness! If I truly am a scheming coward, then you would not have found me here, making off with a jar that I will need to heal him.”

“And when he learns the truth, do you think he will still to be kind to you?” Angber Trel retorted. “It is not compassion to lie to those you wish to protect, it is cruelty!”

“Perhaps it is,” Chirrut relented, wincing. “But so is arresting a thief who has only stolen so he could feed his family.” And here, at least, Angber Trel fell silent. 

Chirrut spoke quickly before he could be stopped again. “Respected Elder, I must go now. Baze is waiting for me. If you will continue to pursue me, I will not stop you. But please, do not stop me from healing this man, as well!” He gave him one last hasty bow before he left in a hurry. 

“Men are cruel,” Angber Trel called to him. “This is what the sages teach us.”

Chirrut stopped to turn to him. “But men can also be kind and benevolent. And this is what I will teach.”

—

He turned his back to the elder fairy and marched off, but when he looked over his shoulder and sensed that the older deity had disappeared, he took off suddenly with a great run.

Baze was awake by the time he’d gotten back—the man wasn’t calling for him but he could feel his consciousness in the Force. He moved quickly then, setting out the bowl, the knife, everything he needed. 

He’d almost forgotten to dress his own arm when he came to sit next to Baze and offer him the bowl, but it was as if Baze had completely forgotten about his nightly wine. There was that arm again, and a stricken, “No!” as if he was trying to poison Baze and the man was helpless. 

“Baze,” Chirrut beckoned to him kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the same wine—”

“ _No_ ,” Baze snarled. “It has your blood in it.” 

Chirrut froze. Baze knew. In spite of his kind lies, Baze had found a way to the truth, and now he would not take the wine. What would he do now? Chirrut despaired. It was just as Angber Trel had said—if Baze knew about the truth, that would be the end of it. He wondered suddenly if Angber Trel had raced him to tell Baze everything. If he did…well, whatever was the case, he didn’t know what to do. 

Baze sucked in a deep breath, and Chirrut braced himself for his judgment. “If I keep drinking,” he said, voice ragged with effort, “you will drain yourself.” Chirrut’s shock had almost caused him to drop the bowl. “I cannot…I will not let that happen. Please, Chirrut,” Baze begged him. Baze…was begging him to stop…so he could save himself! And not because he did not want the sacrifice of a snake. 

Chirrut felt like choking. He knew he ought to speak but it was difficult with his heart in his throat and when all he wanted to do was to cry. But he succeeded with a smile, and relieved his mounting emotions with a laugh. “What are you saying?” he asked softly. “Come now, Baze. I would never feed anything that would bring either of us to harm.” His mind was racing, he had to convince Baze that what he knew was nothing but wild imaginations. “Look,” he went on, “it’s dark now. But in the morning, you will see that I am not wounded. Drink this for now.”

“You promise?” Baze asked, voice hoarse, and there was so much hope in there, so much faith that Chirrut smiled even brighter. He nodded, and finally Baze accepted. 

He left Baze soon after the man returned to sleep to clean up his tools, but could not go on without looking back though he saw nothing. In his heart, at least, he saw Baze’s mark in the Force, a steady glow, a quiet light in the deep night. He wished it would stay that way for him forever. Even though he’d lied again for it, and would continue to lie for it. 

One day, he wished he could tell Baze everything about him, and Chirrut was determined to make this happen. When that would be, he didn’t know. 

He would leave it to the Force, he decided as he left his room. All was as the Force willed it.

—

Baze had asked to see his arms the next morning as Chirrut promised him he could, but found no evidences of the night before, which gave him a great relief. Still, Chirrut took more care in mixing the wine after what had happened until there was no longer any need for it. A week after Baze had fallen very ill, the man could finally get up, and join him in his dining table.

“Sick for an entire week,” Baze sighed, drinking his tea. “I can’t believe it.”

“Now, now, Baze,” Chirrut chuckled, speaking gently. “What’s important now is that you’ve recovered, and what you ought to do next is to exercise. Tomorrow, we’ll be opening the shop again.”

“Shop again, eh?” Baze said, unable to hide a hint of sadness in his voice. “Shame, I thought since we had a week…I might take you to other places here in Jedha. It isn’t often that I spent the holidays with company, so I thought that we might travel a bit to enjoy ourselves.”

That would have been nice, Chirrut agreed, and he smiled wistfully in a way that would tell Baze the same—but such was not the will of the Force, and he was not in a position to question it. So he just reached across the surface, grasping Baze’s hand in comfort when he found it. “Some other time,” he assured him. Preferably, perhaps, when there was no longer any need to lie to him. 

Baze began to speak, but a banging on the giant doors stunned him out of it and both of them out of their contact. Chirrut suddenly forgot what he had been thinking prior to the interruption. “Master Malbus?” came a young voice from beyond the courtyard. “Master Imwe! It’s Bodhi Rook.”

“Well someone’s early,” Chirrut said, grinning as Baze left him in the dining room. Everything was back to normal, all right—the people were back in town, Baze himself was moving as if he hadn’t been bedridden for days. 

But Chirrut would never be the same, he thought, brushing the tips of his fingers as he tried to recall the warmth of Baze’s touch. He loved him, and he doubted that would ever change again, simply because Baze had recovered. Only…he didn’t know what he should do with it. He was a heavenly fairy, and Baze was a mortal man. And worse still, he had been lying to him since they’d met. 

He got up, taking his walking staff from the side of the table where it was leaning. He needed to pray on this. He could not risk this by acting rashly simply because of his emotions. The sages had said so themselves in their teachings. He stepped out of the house finally to join Baze as he received a gift from Bodhi and his mother. The great thing about being a snake spirit was that he had an amazing talent for eavesdropping. 

“Tell your mother thanks from us,” Baze said as he approached. 

“Bodhi!” Chirrut greeted their visitor with a brightness that Bodhi himself had matched with his own. “Won’t you come and join us for tea? The steamed taro would be a perfect match, we could share it.” Bodhi’s presence in the Force seemed to pulsate the longer he lingered by the gate. 

“If I did, Mama would have my head,” the younger man laughed. “Anyway, I ought to look into the Ersos, as well. Jyn tells me they’ve returned from their trip.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Baze said. Bodhi bade them both goodbye and they waited until the man had gone far from the gate before they pulled it shut. Chirrut could feel Baze’s excitement radiating off him, the kind that a boy would wear if he saw his favorite food waiting to be served in the kitchen. “I’ll cook some pork in black beans. It will be good with this,” he said to Chirrut. And there he was—the Baze that he knew! 

What a joy to see him again, he thought, days after missing him. And he wanted to smile and laugh but he wanted to play with him, too. Just because he missed him. Just because he was happy to see him again. “Hmm…” Chirrut said, wearing a thoughtful look with his brows curled while he traced his chin with his finger. “Are we sure you are allowed that now? You’ve only just recovered from your flu, after all. But it would be such a waste and a show of bad manners if we just throw it away. Better if I eat it all.”

“Not that I’m ungrateful for all that you’ve done for me,” Baze replied as he went around him, food in tow, “but this is my reward for putting up with your mediocre cooking skills.” He ought to smack him, he knew, for being ungrateful. 

But Chirrut only smiled, shook his head, and followed after him. Baze was back, and that was all that mattered. 

That was dinner, then, washed down with fresh jasmine and chamomile tea for an early night. Baze was still in bed when Chirrut paid him a visit with his usual morning tea, but he was up soon after, prepping the shop while Jyn and Bodhi took care of the kitchen work. 

Listening to the morning crowd, surrounded by the Force which they had made full and rich by their presence, Chirrut could almost forget that the last week had happened.

—

That was how Chirrut spent his first new year holiday in NiJedha, then, and while it wasn’t perfect, he still couldn’t say that it was all that bad. Baze had made a full recovery from his illness, and that was more than anything Chirrut could hope for.

Everything became more precious to him, then—the mornings when Baze would come to him for tea, when they would laugh together over lunch, when Baze would rouse him gently from his meditation with a tap on his shoulder, and tell him softly, in his deep voice that the shop was closed, and it was time to prepare for dinner. Every day became a gift to Chirrut Imwe so long as he could spend every moment of it with Baze Malbus,but he never thought about coming out to the man with the truth of his nature yet, not once. And every day felt like he was lying to Baze’s face but he insisted it was not yet the right time, and that would soon come, he would just have to wait. 

Not yet, he always said as he and Baze bade each other goodnight after their evening pot of tea. Not yet, he always said as Baze pulled his door shut, and he would turn around as if to look at him one last time that night. 

For seven days and nights, this was how it went. It was the same that night, Chirrut thought as he sipped from his cup of tea, and it would be the same tomorrow still. 

One day, he would have to put an end to it, he thought, and he spun countless phrases together, looking for the right one that would rest easily on Baze. He tried them all on his tongue, in his mind. He felt severely conscious of his thoughts, as if Baze could read them just by looking at him.

He was looking at him! Chirrut raised his face suddenly in attention. 

“Do you ever think about your future?” Baze asked with a slightly raspy voice, breathing fast.

That was an odd question, Chirrut thought, and it made him grin. “That’s quite a deep question, isn’t it?” he replied. How does one answer that question right, anyway. He heard Baze shifting in his place. “The future…is a vast pool that only those with the closest relationship with the Force can tap into,” he continued. “Not even the wisest sage, or the most virtuous heavenly fairy can claim this if they do not have this kind of connection to the Force.” Dipping his head slightly, he asked then, “Which part of the future do you ask about?”

Baze was quiet for a heartbeat. “The part that concerns most men, I guess,” he said after. “Do you ever wonder where you would be in the future? Who might be with you, if you could choose to have a companion?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Chirrut said, smiling still but now he thought wistfully of this future Baze spoke of. “A dear friend, a sworn family, a beloved. Even I am not so different from everyone. Sometimes,” since he’d met Baze, “I dream of building a house, a home, with someone to share my life with. We will have children,” he remembered the tinkling laughter of those young ones in the orphanage, “and many of them. And maybe if I’m lucky,” he grinned shyly—he thought he ought to stop but he’d already come this far to do anything about it, “I will call him guan ren, and he will call me lao gong.” _Husband._

Too much—that was too much for one night. He should have thought about what Baze might feel with him saying that. He should have thought more carefully. 

He left soon after—he hoped Baze wouldn’t take notice of his abrupt motions even when they’d bade each other goodnight. For the first time, he didn’t look back when Baze pulled his door shut. He didn’t stop until he’d left the main house, in fact. 

And stood by the doorway facing the courtyard. There was someone out there, and they couldn’t have hidden themselves from Chirrut even if they’d tried. Or maybe they _were_ trying—it was just that Chirrut could pick them out easily no matter how they tried. 

Chirrut went down to the courtyard to look for them. He heard them froze, felt their chilling fear in the Force, blending perfectly with the darkness they’d created. A stain on an otherwise perfect fabric. 

“I’ll strike you with a deal,” Chirrut announced suddenly as he stood in the middle of the courtyard, walking staff in hand. “If this is your first time to attempt assassination, I will let you go free. On the condition that you do no harm to anyone.” A thick silence answered back. “There is no one of importance here—just two old men and no one else.”

“That’s a lie,” a squeaking voice protested suddenly, somewhere off to his side. “You are no man!” 

Chirrut turned to his left where the assassin had been concealed, and winced when he heard him stumbling past whichever junk he’d chosen to hide behind. He kept his eyes shut, but he followed him until they were facing each other finally, like true opponents. 

“Are you sure you’re an assassin?” Chirrut had to ask. He could practically feel and hear the sentient’s bones shaking from across him. 

“What makes you say that? You can’t even see me!” 

“Even a blind man can see it, trust me.” Chirrut tried not to scoff. “The Force moves darkly around a creature that’s about to kill. I see that your mind has been made up,” he nodded to him, “but your heart is not yet made up. You still have a chance to leave this place. Drop your sword.”

He heard the blade sing in the night air. “Never!” he said and charged. That was a fine attempt, Chirrut thought, and he could hear his spirit riding in his words. 

Only he could tell that he’d thrown his entire weight into the cut, that when Chirrut sauntered backwards, the sentient had no time to readjust and pull himself back. The blade landed with a sharp ring on the concrete. Even Jyn would groan at such a performance. 

Chirrut sighed, moving to the assassin’s back. “Try not to be too noisy, my friend is sleeping.” He picked himself up and ran to Chirrut, again. Chirrut feinted, first dodging right then left which sent the assassin flying to his face on the ground, with a messy landing that clearly told Chirrut how hard the sentient had thought this through. 

Still, he had to give it to him—he was determined to see his assignment through and came at him again and again and again. Chirrut dodged each one of them but later on, flicked them off with a tap of his uneti staff because he felt sorry for the sentient. At one point, he’d almost given him a tip on how to land a blow but decided that one ought not to mess with someone else’s pride and dignity just so. He was almost sure that came from the sages, too. 

“Fight, you coward!” the sentient squeaked angrily when he missed his target for the hundredth time. Chirrut cocked up his brow. “You can’t even open your eyes to face me.”

“I assure you, if I opened my eyes, it would be you who would be screaming,” Chirrut promised him as he parried. The doors flew open then, and it was like Baze’s light had burst through the shadows in his vision, pulsating like a warning sign. 

Chirrut would have to think of a way to explain this to Baze in a way that would not alarm the already-alarmed man, but on the bright side, he was determined to speak truthfully about this to him. For the first time, he could actually be completely honest to him, and that was something that he looked forward to. 

They went around in circles, which was also an accurate description of the assassin’s martial arts skills. The poor sentient was probably tired by now and Chirrut had no plans to extend his humiliation. “Who sent you?” he asked as he moved to his blindside and gave the back of his head a hearty tap with his staff. “Are they a competition? Whoever they are I’m sure we could all come to some agreement.” 

“He did warn me you would try to talk me out of this.” They parried again. 

“Who?” Chirrut asked. 

The assassin grunted, “The old man!” 

That was the first time Chirrut had ever stopped moving in the fight. “Old man?” he sputtered in shock. The old man…that could be none other than Angber Trel—! 

Fire seared through his side, cutting him deeply like a branded sword. Chirrut hadn’t heard himself crying through the pain that exploded in his mind, ripping his eyes open. His knees landed on the concrete, but he was so unsteady that he ultimately fell on his side. He thought about Baze suddenly—Baze had seen all this. 

“ _Lao gong!!_ ” 

Like a vengeful fairy, Baze appeared in a rage swinging at the assassin with a pole while the other defended himself with his sword. Urgent strikes filled the courtyard. Something hollow landed on the concrete. The assassin fled through the gate. 

But Baze stayed with him, raising him on his arms…he was shaking. Poor husband, he was shaking. And crying! “Chirrut!!” The Force was a confused palette of colors, rattled with emotions, making it difficult for Chirrut to focus himself. 

Still, he tried—he had to for Baze’s sake. “It’s okay,” he hissed. By now, his fingers were sleek with the blood leaking from his injury. “It’s okay. Don’t call for help. Just bring me inside the house. Please.”

Baze complied to his relief, carrying him off but he was still so shaken that Chirrut wanted to stop him, to touch his cheek and to tell him that everything was going to be fine. He was a snake spirit. His mortal form would not be the end of him. “It’s okay,” he promised him in a whisper. “It’s okay…I am one with the Force and the Force is with me…” He was one with the Force and the Force was with him.

—

Chirrut had no recollection about what happened next. As soon as he had started to pray, he fell out of consciousness and woke up between the layers of the Force. This was where his spirit would linger, then, until his magic could heal his mortal form. He didn’t know how long it might take, but he thought if he meditated and prayed, perhaps he might recover faster. It was a sound plan.

But difficult to achieve, when all he could hear in the silence was Baze Malbus praying to the Force, crying and begging him, “Lao gong, please come back.”

Lao gong. _Husband_. Since when did Baze feel that way, Chirrut wondered. Was he so blinded by his own thoughts that he could not perceive Baze’s feelings, though he looked upon him with his heart? He ought to cry in joy, Chirrut knew. He ought to rejoice! But he only wept—for what kind of husband would he be, if he abandoned his husband when he needed him most? 

He had to come back. His body will heal in due time but Baze needed him now… 

“…so he’s going to be fine, Baba?”

When he woke up, he didn’t know where he was. His mind was completely blank, and even it he opened his eyes, his blindness would not let him see. 

“Yes, Stardust. He should be fine.”

The room felt and sounded familiar, though, and so was its smell. There was just one stranger there, but the woman was a friend of his, and there was, of course, that voice. That deep soothing voice that had called him back to the land of the living. 

They both let out a sigh of relief, and someone smacked the other in the arm. It must be Jyn, Chirrut thought. Baze would never raise his fist on the young woman, even as a joke. 

He knew then where he was—he was in Baze’s room. Oh how the tables had turned. 

“I would still advise you to call a licensed doctor for a more formal diagnosis,” Jyn’s father went on. Galen Erso, but Chirrut hadn’t really met him yet, he’d only just heard of him. He could hear him fumbling with a bag he must have brought. “For now, I’ll stitch him up. I can at least do that much.”

“A, actually, if it can be avoided…” Baze protested. “He’d asked me not to call a doctor.And if he wakes up to see stitches…”

Chirrut wanted to laugh. His sweet husband! He didn’t mind being attended to by Galen Erso, but he was only worried that they would see how fast his body healed itself and be shocked. 

“Fortunately for you,” he said, “I am a pharmacist, not a doctor. I’ll teach you how to bind him up.”

Baze was the one who’d done it, guided by Galen Erso. And his hands, though they were big and rough, were so gentle, and so scared that Chirrut wanted to take his fingers and kiss them one by one. His wound still felt raw and sensitive, but that was only to be expected. 

They left soon after; Chirrut wished he could thank them himself. Baze went to see them out himself but soon returned to his side, leaning over so he could touch his hair with his fingers. He wanted to smile but his body was so tired. He wondered if this was how Baze felt whenever he brushed his hair when he was sick. It was a nice feeling, but he had to tell Baze that he was awake. That he would be fine. 

When Baze got up to leave the room, he finally mustered enough physical strength to ask him, “Are they gone then?” His voice was so weak, though, that he worried he would not be heard. 

But his husband had, and he had flown back in a heartbeat, the chair grating under his weight as he dragged it closer to the bed. Chirrut made a noise as he tried to turn towards Baze but his body was too heavy, and there were the bandages he had to worry about.“Chirrut!” Baze gasped, his voice thin like breath.“Chirrut, you’re finally awake.”

“Funny,” he said, a frown on his face. “I seem to recall you calling me by a different name—or was that all a fever dream?” A little throwback to Baze’s own days in the bed, to lighten things up a little. Like a child proud of what he’d done, he put on a happy grin, and that finally made Baze laugh. A great cheerful blow that stirred Chirrut’s spirit, like a rousing cry. He would get better for Baze Malbus. He return to him in the fullness of his health—anything for the gift of his laughter, his happiness. 

The touch of his hand on his hair as he said to him, “I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you.” And the joy of being called his, “Lao gong.”

—

Baze had tried asking Chirrut to stay up, even for some soup but his body still being weak, he could not deliver though he had promised. He wanted to go back to the Force quickly, besides. He wanted to heal faster, so he could come back to Baze sooner, as well.

He slept, and meditated and prayed, for the rest of that day, and woke up again the next for Baze, but only long enough to speak with him, to nourish his spirit in a way, and his body with the food that Baze had prepared for him. For three days, he did this. In three days, his magic sewed his wound shut and made him stronger. 

After three days, he still hadn’t told Baze where he had been or what he had been doing. Baze never asked him those questions, though, or how it was that his recovery was swift. 

He was just always there whenever Chirrut returned to his physical form, happy to receive him, ready with food, tea, words that always made Chirrut smile. That afternoon—for that was the time that Baze had said—he served him his honeyed black tea, and rice porridge with chicken, seasoned with ginger and chives. This was the menu Chirrut had asked for the previous day, and it satisfied him. 

“Mmm, I think I shall forever be sick,” Chirrut said, sighing with pleasure as he fell back to the pillows piled up behind him so he could sit up easier. “If it means being spoon fed and spoiled to an inch of my life, I’ll give up martial arts and verses happily.”

“You still have to pay up your balance,” Baze said, reminding him of the excuse he’d used to reject the money he’d been given. “Don’t worry—when you get better, room service will be at a discount.”

“I’m sure we can negotiate,” Chirrut persisted, although he was grinning like a fool. Clearly he was enjoying this back-and-forth. 

“When you get better,” Baze repeated as he offered him his daily cup of chav tea. “For now, drink this. All the way down so you don’t taste it.”

“Did you over steep the tea again?” Chirrut laughed, taking the drink. He figured that was the case as it was an easy mistake when one was multitasking. He should have reminded him to remove the leaves from the bowl, but there it was. “Very well.” He raised the cup to his lips, and tipped the warm fluid in. It was…a lot sweeter than he’d imagined, he thought, as he tried to clear the thick texture from his tongue. He wondered if there had been too much honey to mask the taste, and what sort of tea it was to leave his mouth dry and burning—

Too late—he’d found out too late what it was and had taken too much to be safe from its effects. Shock and fear surged up his spine, out to every nerve in his body as he pitched the offensive cup away from him but it was too late. The burning had crawled down to his throat to fill his lungs by now. “Ch…Ch, Chirrut…?!” Baze sputtered in his shock. 

A searing pain that tightened his throat and his bones made it difficult for Chirrut to speak but he had to know how…did Baze know what it would do to him? Did he know what the wine was? Why had he given it to him?! He could hardly move his jaw when he asked the man, “What was that?” 

“That was tarine wine,” Baze replied, with so much confused innocence. Chirrut continued to shudder and writhe while the poison spread out to his joints and his belly. “For your blood. The tea shop had run out of chav so the old man recommended tarine wine—”

“Old man—?!” Old man…Angber Trel…! There could be no other. Only a great fairy like Angber Trel would know of the properties of the tarine plant not only to warm the blood, but also to upset the balance of any creature using magic to shapeshift—like him. This was no accident, and Baze was only made an instrument of it. 

Pain racked, and twisted him to its form again, perhaps enough to break his bones if he truly had been human but he was not. His mouth fell open to let out a scream, find some form of relief from all the coursing heat, the rigid muscles but all he could manage was a gurgling noise as he fell forward, squeezing his belly where all the fire was burning. Baze’s hand fell on his shoulder and he tried to shrug him off. “Turn away,” he growled.

“What?” Baze was confused, but so was he.

“ _Turn away!_ ” he bellowed, slashing at him with an arm, but catching only wind. He had no choice—he was too weak to run and he had lost control of his magic. Baze would have to be the one to go, as he could no longer run. 

He collapsed to his stomach again, a form that was closer to his natural one, crying and whimpering like a child. He prayed to the Force to let the pain stop, and to his joy, it heard him. When he closed his eyes, the pain faded from him, along with everything else—the room, Baze. 

Himself.

—

This was his punishment for lying to the man he loved and swore to repay. Whatever happened now, he was determined to accept them—no matter if they would break his heart, or perhaps even his spirit. If he deserved them, and if this was the will of the Force, then so be it.

It was just a shame, he thought, that the life he wished he could start with Baze should end before it even began. There go his dreams of hearing their children’s laughter in the courtyard, their slippers slapping noisily as they played, while he visited his husband in the kitchen, perhaps after he had finished his meditation. 

He would be there, as always, his shirt parted to battle the heat while he tossed and kneaded the dough for his baos, white flour flying with his swift, deliberate motions. He would be dusted in it, but that was just how it was. All in the way of work. And when he caught Chirrut watching from the doorway, he would smile at him, full of joy and teeth. His husband. 

At the very least, Chirrut thought, no one could take that dream away from him.

—

He woke up to silence, and for a moment there, it felt as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. All that was just a bad dream, a strange one borne perhaps from his weakness. The room was quiet, and he could feel Baze’s warmth next to him as he always did. As if he’d just come out of his meditation in the Force and come back to Jedha to visit his husband.

He reached for Baze’s shoulder with a gentle touch; from the evenness of his breath, Chirrut could tell that he was sleeping. But in spite of his precautions, the man woke up with an urgency that alarmed even Chirrut. He wanted to laugh, and then to ease Baze’s nerves—there was no need for it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly and kindly. With a smile that he hoped would settle the man. “Did I wake you up?” He raised himself slightly, reaching for Baze’s cheek. 

But Baze moved away, and suddenly, everything was different. The softness of waking up next to the man he loved was replaced by a coldness he had never noticed until then. It was like waking up next to a stranger—everything felt wrong. Chirrut’s hand froze in the air, uncertain. 

“Don’t look at me,” Baze mumbled.

Chirrut chuckled, though, for what else could he do? Surely he was just imagining all this…wrongness. Perhaps he just felt weaker…perhaps it was a fever! “Silly, I’m blind,” he said. “I can’t—”

“You _know_ what I mean,” Baze snapped. And of course he did, no matter that he still smiled. He just wished that had all been a fiction. A product, perhaps, of all his fears. 

“I know everything now,” Baze continued.

Chirrut dipped his head. He wished he could nod to say he understood but he could not even smile, anymore. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Perhaps that should have been,” Baze agreed, “but even if you have, I cannot say I can be the master of my thoughts. Not anymore. Y, you see…I, I…had almost tried to kill you. With a rock.”

Like the town when they found him before Baze came to save him. Chirrut felt his insides quailing, the fear mounting in him that made him want to just disappear forever, before everything he thought he knew was betrayed before him but this was all his fault. This was his doing. He deserved to suffer through this. 

“I’d been scared of what I’d seen,” Baze continued, “that I failed to be rational until the last minute, and after all that you’ve done for me!” Chirrut felt his heart jump. “And all that we’ve done together. So you see, I don’t deserve to be looked at by you. I don’t deserve _you_. The teachings of the sages are true—men _are_ wicked! How could I ask you to love someone like me?”

“Oh?” Chirrut almost cried in his shock. He thought he must have heard wrongly, that his delusions had twisted the words he was told…but if he _had_ tried to kill him, then how could he still be alive? How could he still be capable of smiling in relief, in joy and even amusement? And he was sure he was still alive, the Force told him so. Its flowing motions, its presence which connected him to all things around them, and to the beating heart of Baze Malbus, that weighed heavily in the Force, like a rock falling down the sea. Silly husband! Was that really what he thought? 

“Someone like you,” Chirrut began, “who had saved me when the town wanted to kill me? Who had taken me in and fed me. And who had cared for me when I was injured.”

“And tried to kill you!” Baze reminded him. 

“But didn’t,” Chirrut reminded him in turn with a shake of his head. “You see, the teachings of the sages…are _not_ all true. Men are _not_ wicked,” he said to him. “Your ideas, your intentions may not always be good and pure, but it is our actions that define us, not our thoughts. And that, is the true teaching of a sage. And the reason I know all that…”

Chirrut paused suddenly, hearing his words only after he’d spoken. Should he go on? Should he do this now? He had no choice, anyway, he had put himself in his own trap. Besides, truthfulness must be repaid with truthfulness. 

“…is because,” he continued, “I have lived among the greatest of them, both here in the world and in heaven. You see, I am not just a simple snake,” he took in a deep breath, “I am a snake spirit.” 

“You’re a heavenly fairy,” Baze gasped. 

“I have lived among you for centuries, and even meddled with your affairs,” Chirrut confirmed it to him with a grin. “But…one time, I overstepped my boundaries,” he spoke carefully now. It was important that Baze understood all that he was saying, without losing any of his words. In time, he would have to tell him all, but for now this would be enough, “and caused harm to a mortal. And for that, I was punished, and became blind. I sought to escape my prison, and that is how I came to this town.”

“So is that why your eyes have been closed since?” Baze asked. “Because you cannot open them?”

Chirrut had not considered this—that Baze would ask him about his eyes. He had gotten so used to his blindness that he had taken its strangeness for granted. Was he ready for it? “I can open my eyes,” he revealed after some hesitation, “but…they might scare you.” What a stupid way of saying it. 

“I have already seen a snake in my bed. What else would scare me?”

Chirrut grinned slightly. What a typical response from Baze! He had a point, though…and if he said that he was ready to see them… 

Then Chirrut would let him—but he was careful not to shock Baze by opening his eyes all of a sudden. He did it slowly, as though he were a man who would see the light of day for the first time. 

Only of course he didn’t—but that didn’t matter. Baze was there to comfort him, with a warm hand on his cheek, with his thumb brushing the bone so lightly. A shudder went up his spine at his tender touch. With a heart so full, he leaned into it. What a gift it was to be in a place to enjoy this comfort. 

“Does it hurt?” Baze whispered.

Chirrut shook his head, rubbing his cheek into his warm palm. “Not when guan ren touches it like this,” he assured him. Guan ren. _Husband_. He grinned—he liked the way that it rolled down his tongue, how it sounded. And when Baze’s fingers, slipped behind the back of his neck to touch his hair, he knew he did, too.

—

For the first time since his physical form was injured, Chirrut did not return so hastily to the Force to meditate. By then, Baze had come to know about this healing process, and many other things that had always been a mystery to the human since they met. His martial arts skills, his walking staff, his faith and his magic.

For the first time since they’d met, they had also shared a bed. Baze had been sleeping on a chair or in Chirrut’s bedroom since the attack, but now there was no need for such strangeness between two people who called each other husbands. This—this was exactly the kind of life that he wanted, Chirrut thought. To sleep next to his beloved, to be so close he could pick up the scent of his hair, of his flesh, and the beating of his heart and the purr of his breath. 

They would just need a bigger bed, he thought. Otherwise, it was difficult to get up without disturbing the other—especially if you were sneaking out. 

Fortunately for Chirrut, he had great control over his body and had escaped Baze’s notice as he came down the bed. Looking for his slippers was a little harder—there were suddenly two pairs when he was used to there only being one—but he persisted, especially as walking out on his bare feet was out of the question. The night was cold, and he was not yet so well that he could risk it despite him employing his magic. Even his movements were a little more careful, even for a blind man. 

He left the doors open as he passed the dining hall, the living room, and finally stepped out into the courtyard. He was retracing his steps, he thought, from three nights ago as if in some remembrance. 

Only tonight, he stopped several paces from the center, and went to his knees, dipping his head as one would in the Heavenly Court. As he did once before the three spirits who stood in front of him—as they had when he was put in prison. 

“Chirrut Imwe,” Angber Trel began as the snake spirit straightened up. He thought his voice filled the entire vacuum, reverberating in the Force, even though he knew they were only speaking in their minds. He thought also that he heard a soft sigh from the old man as he continued, “Wise Chirrut Imwe. For your actions and your nature, you have continuously been subjected to prejudices and tests without favor. Here you are, condemned to the life of a blind man, punished for your beliefs…and yet it is you, who would teach us that even the great sages do not teach us all: Men can be cruel, but men can also be kind and benevolent.” There was another, heavier sigh.

“Chirrut Imwe,” he went on, “heaven has done you a great disservice. How can we ask for your forgiveness?” 

Words he had never expected from the great fairy himself. “Respected Elder,” Chirrut began, raising his hands in salutation. “Perhaps, if I had been a wiser man, I would demand for repayment for what was done to me. But I am only a faithful man, a loyal subject and a servant of the Force.” Twirling his finger to measure the beat, he recited, “All is as the Force wills it—these are the words of the sages. And if we truly call ourselves devoted to the Force, then we must believe that this is so. It was the will of the Force that I be punished. It was the will of the Force for me to show you that men can have good hearts. And if we believe that this is so,” he grinned for what he was about to say next, “then could heaven truly have done me a disservice? When it is only an instrument of the Force to put me where I must be?”

A great laughter burst out in response. “Wise and faithful Chirrut Imwe!” Angber Trel exclaimed. “Truly you are learned in the ways of the Force. One can only hope to be as devoted to his studies and his faith as you.”

“If you will not accept our apologies,” Silvanie Phest entered, causing Chirrut to smile wistfully at her rhythmic voice, the colors it painted in the Force like musical notes, “then perhaps you can accept our gratitude and our sincerest commendation.” Chirrut bowed his head to her. “We admire you, Chirrut Imwe. You and Master Malbus had been put through the great sufferings that all mortal lives must have, yet you rose above and beyond your faith, when it would have been easier to give up and forget all of this. Heaven must thank you for what you have shown us.”

“I only give back to heaven, what heaven gave to me, Sister,” Chirrut said. “A chance to prove myself, and a chance to meet the man who now owns my heart.”

Angber Trel laughed again while another sighed. 

“Heaven will say what it wants of you,” the sighing voice said. “It will call you wise and faithful, but you’re still such a sap.”

“Oh?” Chirrut asked, jumping back. “Sister Killi, between the two of us, who was it who spent two days fasting and crying when she learned about the orphans?”

“That is compassion, Brother Chirrut, and not sappiness.”

“Well then, I am _very_ compassionate about Baze Malbus.”

“I think what you mean is passionate, Chirrut.”

“Must we define differences?” Chirrut grinned. “You are very passionate in what you do, and so am I.”

“Sometimes I do regret letting you tail me wherever I went when we were younger,” Killi sighed again. “But still, it gives me great joy to see where that child is now.” Chirrut bowed again. “Although your actions have constantly defied the laws that govern us celestial beings, there is now no doubt that your motivations are virtuous, and undeserving of the punishment which has left you sightless. Heaven now agrees that we must undo this injustice, but as we have robbed you of your voice during your trial, we will give you the decision now on this matter. One word from you will be enough to heal your blindness.”

“Kind Sister,” Chirrut began, “this is a wish that could only have come true in dreams, and I am humbled to receive this. The sages all tell us that one must be grateful for one’s blessings, so we must heed their wise words. With your permission,” he raised his hands again, “I wish to keep the blessing of my blindness, not because I wish to cause offense, but because it has opened the eyes of my heart. And truly, what greater beauty is there to be found? Than that which we see with our hearts, and in the Force?” 

“Spoken like a true sage,” Killi chuckled. “Very well—if this is your will, then so be it. Heaven will respect your decision.”

“The Force truly is with you,” Angber Trel followed. “May heaven see more of your selfless virtues.”

At long last, after several months of running and hiding and chasing, they parted as friends. Chirrut picked his way back to Baze’s bedroom. 

“Where were you?” Baze grunted as he slid back to make room for his husband. 

“I went to meditate,” was all Chirrut said as he laid next to him. He opened his arms, and Baze was there, wrapping him in his own embrace. 

He fell fast asleep, cocooned in contentment.

—

Chirrut returned to pray in the Force the next day, and Baze returned to the shop. The days passed quickly then, and more easily after that one night. Until finally Chirrut could stand on his own two feet, without the aid of his magic.

It was Bodhi’s birthday. Chirrut was excited—it was the first of its kind that he would celebrate and it was made better by a plan to surprise the young man. Chirrut had been an eager participant when they were assigning roles all around—Jyn would be the one to keep Bodhi occupied and oblivious until he arrived at his party, where they would meet Cassian and his loyal K-2SO with his birthday present, a bespoke set of robes for him to wear for his imperial exam. That also excited Chirrut. 

As did the task of building the menu with none other than the master of the kitchen, his husband Baze Malbus. There should be noodles, Chirrut insisted. And fish, Baze added. And dumplings and longevity buns, they agreed. He would not see them all, but Baze promised to describe them. 

Starting with the raw ingredients they each now carried in baskets. Chirrut was the picture definition of happiness that morning, like a boy on his first field trip, so eager to laugh and smile at everything, and anything that Baze told him. 

Perhaps if he hadn’t sensed the awesome presence approaching them, like a man bestowed with all the greatness and the virtues of the Force that made him shine within and without, he might not have stopped at all. That was, if he hadn’t been too deaf to hear the ringing bells, the generous laughter as he greeted them, “May the Force of others be with you!” 

“Master Ang,” Baze said, just as Chirrut raised his hands to salute. For a second there, he wondered if he’d done it too fast to betray their relationship but Baze didn’t seem to have noticed. “What a surprise to catch you here outside the orphanage.”

“It’s a lovely day to walk, is it not?” Angber Trel said. When Chirrut felt his eyes on him, he couldn’t help but smile, in the same way that it was difficult to hide his glee in meeting Killi again back in the orphanage. “It is good to see you out here, as well.” That was directed to him, he knew. 

“Master Ang, I never got to introduce you both the last time.” Baze spoke again. “This is Chirrut Imwe.” Chirrut bowed. “He was the friend I had mentioned the last time we were in the orphanage.”

Chirrut played along. “It’s a pleasure to have finally met you, Master,” he said. “Baze has told me much about you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Angber Trel replied with the right lines. Chirrut had to keep his grin in check—here was a man who was the master of his script! “And you are, how do you say this…friends?” 

Chirrut turned to Baze, and beamed at him. Were they too obvious? He hoped they were very obvious. Otherwise, how could he explain to Baze that he had been talking about them to one of his elders? 

Whatever the case, Baze only said to Angber Trel, “We’re working on it,” and that made him laugh. 

“I shall leave you both to it, then,” he said. “Master Malbus, Master Imwe. May the Force of others be with you.”

“May the Force of others be with you, as well,” Chirrut replied with a final salute.

They were on their way then, both of them passing the other. It was such a short meeting, too brief, perhaps, for any significance, but to Chirrut it was a great milestone. It was the mark that at last, he truly was free—from his prison, his lies and all his secrets…or maybe not all of them yet. But in time, he knew he would tell Baze everything. 

For now, though, he would be patient, and satisfied with what he had. “Guan ren,” he called to Baze. 

“Lao gong?” Baze answered. 

Chirrut grinned. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I just wanted to call you that.”

He would never take this gift for granted—of calling Baze his husband and being called his. Of having his hand to hold his, reminding him that he was there, and he was his. Chirrut's smile burst through his cheeks. He swung their hands together, and Baze laughed. There would be more of this and others in their future—a future that started now. 

Hand in hand with the man he loved, Chirrut sent a prayer of thanks to the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't exactly how Angber Trel was written in GOTW but I needed a Venerable Old Man and he was _there_ so.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative titles: _My Husband is a Snake_ , or _My Husband is a Heavenly Fairy_.


End file.
